August lashes out in volcanic fury

[Charliecat5]

It has nearly been a week since my last run, through the wet streets of Edinburgh and up the hillside to Arthur’s Seat.  Since then I have driven 1,600 km to arrive in an absolutely beautiful part of Italy for the first instalment of a two week trip.  The place we are staying in has the most fantastic views across gently rolling hills and endless acres of vines and olive groves.  The temperature is currently a barmy 32 degrees, but set to rise through the week with 40 degrees plus expected by the weekend.   

The reason of course we are able to experience such fantastic views is because our apartment is situated on a hill.   I’ll come back to this little, but important point in a moment.

The other thing we are enjoying, two days into our holiday, is the Italian food and wine.  On our first evening we reviewed the wine menu in the local restaurant to find that the most expensive bottle was only 10 Euro!  The most expensive!  We had that… and another… and another.   Last night followed a similar pattern.

I would go on… but I appreciate that this is not a holiday blog… I just needed to set the scene for what followed.

I got up at 7:30 this morning.  Other than the gentle snuffles of my family enjoying the last moments of sleep, it was silent.  I sat outside lacing up my shoes already aware that the temperature was significantly higher than my usual running environment.  I stood and surveyed my route... down through the olive groves, following a gravel track that would take me past those acres of grapevines.   This is going to be great.

I headed to the end of the garden and dropped down the short set of steps to the beginning of the run.  I knew the start would be downhill, that much was obvious.  What I hadn’t quite realised was the severity of the hills.   You know that moment when a roller-coaster finally finishes its climb… the loud click, click, click of the ratchet stops and there is a brief, but intense moment of anticipation as the car slides over the top before all hell breaks loose.  That was my run this morning… without the screams and without the speed.  I plunged downhill for half a mile before the track levelled out.  A sharp right flung me into a sharp left before the track was racing up-hill again. This is where all similarity to the roller-coaster leaves this story… whilst it continued its metaphorical journey flying back up the hill… I staggered and faltered as all the energy dissipated from my legs, as my lungs rasped for air, as I crashed to a halt staring forlornly at the rear lights of the roller coaster as it disappeared from view.

I knuckled down; there was little choice, and fought body and mind up the next hill, a mile of hot gravel through some of the most remote countryside I have ever run in.  Acutely aware that no-one would hear my screams.  As I eventually staggered to the top of the next peak my Garmin kindly informed me that I had only done 1.5 miles.  I had planned 4 miles in total, but to achieve this would mean careering down yet another hill with its consequential run back up; so I turned and started to head back… knowing that before I arrived back to the bosom of my family I had to face the monster that started this run… a monster that I had only yet tackled on a downward trajectory, but now had to stare face on into the full extent of its evil return.

It started steep and hot, it got steeper and hotter as I left any last traces of shade behind. Eventually, as I crested the peak, sweat (aka Tuscan Vino) poured from me like the waters that created this ravine in the first place.  I crawled back through the garden and lay outside the apartment door until my Smallest (bless her) fetched me water.

It was only 3 miles… but Christ it was one of the toughest 3 miles to date.  Sitting here writing this, I am looking around admiring the beautiful view again… but with the knowledge now that all is not what it seems…

But I’ll be back… an earlier start, a little less wine and a few more miles.  This inhospitable land has tried, but it hasn’t broken me yet. 
 

[Charliecat5]

Perdersi in Italia

This time I knew what I was up against.  I set the alarm for 6:30am to beat the heat, and because I was nominated the driver last night, I’d only had a couple of glasses of vino.  Plus I’d worked hard on the carb loading (12 inch pizza for tea).  All the stars were lining up for a perfect run.

At 6:30 the alarm went off.   At 6:30 and one split second later I had switched it off.  45 minutes later I woke.  Bugger.  Sod this I thought… I’ll run tomorrow.  It’s not good to be running two days, erm, running anyway.  So I got up and took my book outside to enjoy the first moments of the morning.  But just as I was settling down to read, I heard a runner go past… I didn’t see them but the scuff of their feet over the gravel was clear.  Bugger.  I need to run.  I got changed, I filled my water bottle (I forgot to take this yesterday) and set off.

I had planned a route the evening before, a circular one this time, as I am not particularly fond of runs that go out and back the same way – I’m easily bored.  On Google Maps it all looked straight forward.  I would run back down the roller-coaster but at the top of the first loop, I would turn right, not left and head along the top for a mile before heading north again, past some farms and back onto the road which would take me back to the entrance of the place we are staying. 
It started well… I paced myself down the roller-coaster and managed a reasonable 10min pace up the other side.  I turned right and plodded along the top until I found the turn back to the valley bottom.  It was all going to plan… until I lost the gravel track… but all was not lost, there was a small muddy track through some woods, and not being one for admitting that I could possibly be lost, and certainly not one for turning back, I kept going.  After all, there is only one direction in life, and that is forwards.

The muddy track was beautiful, heading through woods and across a lovely meadow before, brilliantly, re-joining the gravel track I'd lost in the first place.  Bloody ‘ell I’m good, I told myself, and was still full of my own brilliance when I arrived at a junction.  I didn’t remember this on Google Maps.  The choice was uphill or down.  I chose up.  The theory being that if I did get it wrong (obviously I wouldn’t) then I could run back down hill to correct my mistake.  The other way would mean running up hill to correct the mistake.   I got it wrong.  After a steep climb I found myself in a farmyard, surprising the tourists staying there, who had probably spent a fortune to enjoy the splendid isolation that the house afforded… and were clearly not expecting to see a fat, red faced, sweary English man sweating profusely in their garden.   I waved and smiled (I’m not sure that helped the situation) and instead of turning around, I kept going through their garden into the grape fields beyond. 

Any semblance of a path completely disappeared now, so I hugged the edge of the field and kept going, tripping over the odd vine as I went.  A small path took off on my right, so I tried it, but within yards it had disappeared into brambles and the suspicion of snakes.  I re-traced my steps and continued around the field, until eventually, having crossed a deep ditch, I was right back at the same junction that started this detour.

The direction now was clear, and after a few yards I made it to the road.  Brilliant, nearly home.  3.5 miles done.

I’m not a religious man… but Oh. My. God.  1 mile up hill on the hard-top in 30 degrees of heat.  It nearly broke me.  My determination not to stop and the thought of the swimming pool kept me going.  Eventually after a number of false hopes I reached the peak and enjoyed a quarter of a mile of downhill before I turned back onto a gravel track, uphill to our apartment.  Sitting back in a chair having a well-earned rest, I lifted my leg, to flick off an ant, and sweat poured of the end of my foot - that's not meant to happen.  5 minutes later I was in the pool cooling down.

This is ridiculous, I had only run 5 miles, but it felt like 15. 

I wonder what tomorrow will bring? 

[Charliecat5]

This morning's run postponed due to excessive alcohol consumption.  

[marathondan]

This morning's run postponed due to excessive alcohol consumption.  

Good news! Sounds like you're working too hard.

[Charliecat5]

BGG used an interesting term a little while ago, which I think he had picked up from the Moyle Lady, which was “junk miles”.  I understood that these were miles empty of effort; not counting for much.  I’ve been thinking about this phrase quite a bit whilst out running this last week as I don’t feel these short blasts are doing a great deal as preparation for the JS20.  I need to be putting in the long miles – doing at least one run per week in the 12 to 15 mile range.  The challenge when on holiday is firstly finding the time (the kids are not impressed if I go out for 2 to 3 hours); and secondly finding the routes that can take you this distance without getting lost (or in my case, without pounding the hard top).

I headed out again this morning, following a night of beer, pasta and ice-cream.  I chose to do the last run in the opposite direction so the two mile road section was downhill rather than up.  This time I didn’t get lost, but this also meant that the run was half a mile shorter than the last one, coming in at 4.5 miles.  My legs felt heavy, it was hot, and I had to stop a couple of times for water.   Junk miles?  I don’t think so… there were plenty of hills to grind up, there was still the mental anguish to overcome and it certainly was helping shed the excesses of the evening before.  Also, and most importantly, they were enjoyable, allowing me to explore parts of the countryside that I suggest the majority of tourists never get to see.

I saw workers out in the vineyards, getting their work done before the day really cranked up the thermostat, I saw deer grazing, I heard Cicadas wake and start tuning their instruments ready for the busy day ahead.   I saw a farmer ploughing a field with the biggest single plough imaginable.  I stopped in the bottom of a valley and heard complete silence.  All of this while most were still finishing their dreams.  

[marathondan]

It has often been said that if you pack your runners whenever you travel, you'll see the secret sights that most tourists miss. Honest toil at ground level.

[Charliecat5]

I wasn’t planning a run this morning, but waking up at 8am realising I had a hangover made the decision for me.  It wasn’t going to be pretty, but at least I could sweat out the three bottles of Prosecco, beers and wine.   It was later than normal… the air already a sweltering cauldron, cicadas pulling on their sun hats and lizards racing for shade.

Three miles was the plan… and it was reasonably quick considering all I thrown at my body only  a few hours earlier.   I managed the roller-coaster (down and up) in a 7 minute mile.  I then cruised at a steady pace to Bibbiano, a small hamlet at the top of a hill.  Having enjoyed the view for a little while, I turned my broken body and pointed it in gravity's direction and ran as hard as I could… with dust blowing off the back of my shoes I flew like the Scirocco all the way to the valley bottom and then without stopping turned to head back up the roller coaster.  Head down, focused on each step I started the heavy climb back up, and it was going well until I was overtaken by a Norwegian guy staying in the apartment next to us – he had hardly broken a sweat.   Bloody ‘ell.   

   

Weekly stats:  15.7 miles; 784 metres climbed.
200in100:  Day 55 and 134 miles in the bag.

We leave Italy tomorrow for the French Alps and the second instalment of the holiday.

[Charliecat5]

Italy has now become the French Alps. We have a hotel right on Lake Annecy with phenomenal views from the balcony of the lake and then the mountains beyond, and behind us a beautiful tree swept monster that starts the foothills heading towards Mont Blanc. 
 
Running along the lake is an option, and one that Mrs CC5 is considering… but it’s flat and I would have to run back along the same route.  So I decided to ask the receptionist if there were any tracks up the hillside behind the hotel.  Her response was positive, there was indeed a track up to the Angon Cascades… but she went onto say that if I was interested in running, there was a lovely track along the lake.  I raised my eyebrows, and pointed out that I was a trail runner and liked running up hills… she just stared at me.   I went out to recce the route.  She may have a point.

   

This evening after a  morning high in the mountains (by car) booking a paragliding session for myself and the rest of the CC5 clan and then spending the afternoon kayaking on the lake, it was time to hit the slopes.  Just as I was heading out of the door, it started raining.  In normal circumstances this is ok, but I know from yesterday’s recce that the track is very rocky and my runners are hopeless over wet, slippery rock.

All I can say is that I ran (walked) 3 miles and climbed 494 metres… 300 of those metres were in the first 0.8 of a mile!   I would argue, and indeed BGG has already pointed out, that this is closer to mountaineering than running.  In the very steepest sections there were ropes hung to help the unsuspecting runner up the hardest bits.  I must admit that my pace was a little off the mark in places…

As for the Angon Cascades… they were incredible.  The experience of running behind a waterfall before reaching the edge of a 200 metre cascading vertical drop of water was just out of this world.

   

[Charliecat5]

Running down the W last night with BGG just as the last kiss of the sun was fading away into the night, he started to reminisce how it was on this very hill that he first noticed me… he was running down it as I was biking up it.  I could see a small tear form in the corner of his eye as he reflected on how this chance passing (a runner and mountain biker) led to the friendship and bond of running we share today.  How this bud of shared interest grew and flourished into the Moyleman and ultimately to me giving up the biking and becoming a runner.

The bastard!   If only on that fateful day, I had set off 10 minutes earlier. 

Back to the present… two weeks of holiday had taken their toll on the running.  I had managed a series of hot (really hot) runs in Italy putting 16 miles in the bank… but France only provided a short, but fiery 3.5 miles… and over the two week period, I failed to achieve anything over 5 miles which is a long way short of what I need at the moment.

My plan tells me I need to be pushing 15 miles now; I have dropped below the line just as the JS20 starts to loom on the horizon.   So what I should have done (and I can hear Marathondan and Glaconman’s voices in the back of my head telling me this) is headed out for a slow easy one, probably around 6 miles to ease myself back in – perhaps to Blackcap and back.  But no, not me.  I decided to get back into it by running 12 miles with 420 metres of elevation.  And not only that, I invited BGG to join me. 

By the time we were on the last mile back into Lewes my calf muscles were doing a pretty good impression of a set of bagpipes, with my lungs resembling the dying drone of the airbag as it deflates for the final time before being put away in its box.

It was a beautiful run (in terms of sunsets and views) but a tough one in terms of the running.  Other than waiting for the big man at the top of the hills, we pretty much kept going the whole way.  And as he said, we’re not doing too badly if we can knock off a half marathon over these hills on a Monday evening.

   

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Running down the W last night with BGG just as the last kiss of the sun was fading away into the night, he started to reminisce how it was on this very hill that he first noticed me… he was running down it as I was biking up it.  I could see a small tear form in the corner of his eye as he reflected on how this chance passing (a runner and mountain biker) led to the friendship and bond of running we share today.  How this bud of shared interest grew and flourished into the Moyleman and ultimately to me giving up the biking and becoming a runner.

It's OK, he's a big guy, you can slap him. Lord knows many of us have wanted to.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

  And as he said, we’re not doing too badly if we can knock off a half marathon over these hills on a Monday evening.

I hate you both.

[Sweder]

Thanks for the blast. I run around 10% quicker with you, which means 
A) I'm normally a lazy git
B) you're considerably fitter than me
C) both

Here's my Runkeeper data from last night. 
The flatline at the end (pace) is me stopping halfway up the hill to my house to try to stave off horrible calf cramps. Apparently magnesium is the stuff for that - one tablet before, one after. 

   

[Charliecat5]

The flatline at the end (pace) is me stopping halfway up the hill to my house to try to stave off horrible calf cramps. Apparently magnesium is the stuff for that - one tablet before, one after. 

At risk of being serious for a second (sorry)... I have started to use Zero tabs in my water - which contain electrolytes (no idea what they do, but they sound good) and magnesium... which seem to help with the cramps in my calf muscles (I had no major issues when we ran Caburn the other week).  However, last night having loaded my backpack with water and dropped in a tab I discovered, as I headed out the door, that I hadn't attached the hose properly and it had leaked everywhere.  I quickly retreated and grabbed my water bottle and headed out again - with water, but without magnesium.

Whether connected, I don't know, but the last 2 miles were agony in the calf department.  I am surprised you didn't hear my screams when I attempted to massage them on that torturous foam rolling thing last night.  

[Charliecat5]

Thanks for the blast. I run around 10% quicker with you, which means 
A) I'm normally a lazy git
B) you're considerably fitter than me
C) both

That's funny, I tend be 10% slower with you... 

[Charliecat5]

News Flash... pipped to the post

I set the alarm for 6:30 this morning for a little plod... I had it planned and everything.  Then at 6:20 Mrs CC5 jumps out of bed and announces that she's going out for a run.  Bugger, the early worm and all that.   

[Charliecat5]

Having had my morning plans scuppered, I thought I’d better go out this lunchtime for a fast 3 miles around Sweder’s circuit.   What I hadn’t accounted for was how tight my hamstrings were.  I never suffer from tight hamstrings.  I very quickly had to pull back my pace and settle for a gentle outing to ease these off a bit.

3 miles later and they still remained tight.  Mind you, having eased off, I still came in at an 8:40 min/mi pace, which included 100 metres of elevation… so perhaps I didn’t ease off enough!  

[Sweder]

Tight hammies are a sign of weak quads/ glutes (flabby arse) ... so I was told once.
I have a remedy for that, though I won't share until I've tried it myself next week.
Let's just say it involves some well-known, really nasty hills ...

[Charliecat5]

Tight hammies are a sign of weak quads/ glutes (flabby arse) ... so I was told once.
I have a remedy for that, though I won't share until I've tried it myself next week.
Let's just say it involves some well-known, really nasty hills ...

I was hoping it was going to involve a little bit of butt clenching and copious amounts of beer.

Wait a minute... are you saying I have a flabby arse?  

[Sweder]

Unless your arse is anything like Jennifer Ennis's - and trust me, it's pretty damned far from that - yes.
Most 'fun' runners have flabby glutes. That's how we roll. Or wobble. Sadly very few remedies are much fun, though I did wonder if being paddled by a tall lady wrapped in leather might help. I'll let you know.

[Charliecat5]

Unless your arse is anything like Jennifer Ennis's - and trust me, it's pretty damned far from that - yes.
Most 'fun' runners have flabby glutes. That's how we roll. Or wobble. Sadly very few remedies are much fun, though I did wonder if being paddled by a tall lady wrapped in leather might help. I'll let you know.

Sorry, you lost me at Jennifer Ennis's arse.