February 2017

[Sweder]

Medio Maraton de Almeria XX
Sunday 5th February 2017

Sweder Stats
Finish (chip time) 2:11:11 
Position (age category V55F*): 3rd
21k kilometre split times/ pace 

1.    5:54
2.    6:12
3.    6.11
4.    7:12
5.    7:02
6.    6:28
7.    6:05
8.    6:27
9.    5:47
10.  5:53
11.  6:28
12.  6:31
13.  6:26
14.  6:08
15.  5:54
16.  6:03
17.  5:59
18.  5:50
19.  5:29
20.  5:34
21.  5:37
0.4  5:01

*see race report

[Sweder]

MAF (Take two) Day One
MAF180 HR: 125 (this won't change for at least two weeks as I go through analysis)

Distance: 6.76 kilometres
Time: 1:03:57
Average pace: 9:27 mins per km
Calories: Runkeeper says 573, MiCoach (HR watch) says 923 Kcal
Average HR: 118

A chilly old start, a little later than planned, too, due to being knackered after a brilliant but exhausting weekend at the Medio Maraton.
I walked the first half mile, as one should, and found the going easy. I missed out on some of the hoped-for vista ogling due to constant glances at the HR watch. I need to set this to beep at my desired HR (125), then I can get on with looking out for thuggish Rooks and jittery rabbits.

The dogs don't seem to mind the drop in pace on these outings. So long as they're out there, racing back and forth, chasing smells and shadows, they're happy enough. In fact it's to their benefit, as they get longer walks, time-wise. Chalk that up as a 'win' for the furry velociraptors. 

As with my first attempt at MAF, I found the going easy and could happily have run longer. The Andalusian lead has almost left my legs, so next time I'll try to get up earlier in order to add another half hour to the session. That should get me out to BlackCap (and back) at least.

On my return I rustled up a late breakfast of two eggs over easy (fried in butter), three rashers of unsmoked, grilled bacon and a whole avocado, diced and salted.
Bacon and avocado were made for breakfast. My word.

   

[Antonio247]

Medio Maraton de Almeria XX
Sunday 5th February 2017

Sweder Stats
Finish (chip time) 2:11:11 
Position (age category V55F*): 3rd
21k kilometre split times/ pace 

1.    5:54
2.    6:12
3.    6.11
4.    7:12
5.    7:02
6.    6:28
7.    6:05
8.    6:27
9.    5:47
10.  5:53
11.  6:28
12.  6:31
13.  6:26
14.  6:08
15.  5:54
16.  6:03
17.  5:59
18.  5:50
19.  5:29
20.  5:34
21.  5:37
0.4  5:01

*see race report

Congrats on that pace that made you fly in the last kilometres, S.!

It was great to be with you on your eleventh Almería half marathon.

Looking forward to reading your race report and meeting you again.

Saludos desde Almería

[Sweder]

Medio Maraton de Almería XX
Sunday 5th February 2017

Well, that was different. 

I've lined up for this race on ten previous occasions. Every time, I've gone out inwardly determined to give it everything, to hunt down the best time I can. Sometimes that's worked, like the year I chased Julie for 10k with my lungs in my throat before 'detaching the glider' and coasting home to a PB. Or my first attempt, alongside Niguel, once of this Parrish. We'd sung 'Ici nous alons' to the watching locals as we'd scampered up and down the central shopping spine, followed by 'La la la la la la Rambla!' to the tune of 'La Bamba', 'Don't Stand So Close To Me' and 'Football's Coming Home'. He's a funny old stick, is Niguel.

I've run this race with the mighty Moyleman, seen Simon Ho tear into the first 2k only to be brought back after a false start (the lead bike had taken the wrong route) then lose a shoe at the restart. I've fought battles with Bag-Drop Crones, I skated round the year it rained and the hard, marble-like roads ran lethally slick as inadequate drains gulped and spluttered in vain. I even received a pewter plaque from the good Burghers of Almería, to mark my tenth consecutive perambulation.

Not this year. I had a different head on this year. Yet, this 2017 race, preceded by possibly the least training and completed at little more than a leisurely jog, sits proudly amongst the best. Why?

People. Every one of those races has been illuminated by the company of wonderful people. A mixed bag; locals, the far-flung, artists and artisans, some I've known for decades, others I've only just met. MLCMMan writes about the company of runners, and he's right. It doesn't matter a jot if you're Haile Gebrselassie (I raced him here, you know. He won, by any number of streets) or highly underprepared, if it's in you, you're my kind of people. I was surrounded by them; from the creator of this fine forum to my Moyleman comrades, to the Brighton posse and friends from as far away as Sydney and Vancouver. Bliss.

The Medio Maraton is famous for it's organisational eccentricities. False/ late/ uncertain starts, an ever-changing route, a 9k that once measured closer to 13, the only true constant are the generous punnets of tomatoes and the warmth of the welcome. Memories are legion and the stuff of legend. This year was to be no exception. With the 21k start ready on time, projected finishing times up to 2 hours pinned to roadside trees, all looked well set. Until we saw the 9K start, immediately behind the last 21k pen.  Ah, a staggered start. But surely, those 9K whippets would be weaving through the slow-coach Halfers. It could get quite messy ... 

If only it were that simple. Rumours spread, the usual pre-race murmurs carrying improbable news.
No staggered start. Parked at the back of the long run peloton, behind teams of Legionnaires replete with banners, faux pikes and decked out in colour-coded squad shirts, our small, nervous band glanced back at the massed hoards of lithe short-track racers. Bugger ...

And, we were off. And so were the 9Kers. They trotted up to us, bunched, eager, necks stretching to see what's what. Sharp-eyed runners spied the gaps along the flanks, narrow corridors of fenced off pavement, and took off at speed. As we slowly shuffled towards the start, hundreds of runners poured around us. Antonio looked on, a gentle smile etched across his chiseled jaw. I glanced at Duncan, Graham and Rob. 
'See! Ha ha ha ha! Madness ... '
Finally, two full minutes after the gun, we reached the start-line. Chip-readers chirruped and we were off. 
Once more, unto the streets, dear friends, once more!

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

Four klicks in, I slowed to a walk. 
I'd decided long ago that this would be a calm one, a stroll. No bug-eyed, frothing madness this year. A slow start, take it easy, see how it all unfolds. This wasn't so much unfolding as unraveling. My recent dabbles in Heart Rate Running and the work of Dr Phil Maffetone had me glancing at my Adidas watch every few seconds. A combination of anxiety and a fairly hilly start had me up into the 160's, so I slowed to a walk on one of the climbs. This was like London in 2004; too frenetic, too hectic.
Chill out, man, slow it all down, enjoy the ride. 

Any number of gently jogging runners past me as I talked myself down. I glanced back and there was MLCMMan, moving well, cap set square, leaning forward. He caught me with ease. 
'You OK mate?' 
I smiled. 
'Yeah, all good, I'm just slowing things down so I can enjoy the ride.'

Antonio had set off like a rat out of an aqueduct, barely behind Charliecat5 and OATR, both of whom were shepherding the chanting Legions as they clattered through the city. I couldn't believe he'd left me for dead. I've no doubt herding us lot from pillar to post and the excitement of such a large and diverse Armada had sent our host's adrenaline coursing. I felt sure we'd see him again and said as much to Graham as we cruised through the streets, hi-fiving youngsters, enjoying the scene as we chatted about all things running.

Sure enough, a familiar figure appeared on the horizon. We'd just passed the halfway mark, heading west on Avenida de Cabo de Gata before the U-turn and the longest section, east towards the airport before the long climb home. Antonio was in trouble. Hunched, run-walking with a pronounced limp, he was slowing down. We reached him, chugging gently alongside. He smiled his greeting and explained his calf was in some pain. We ran together, Three Amigos, around the turn and into kilometre twelve. We'd spotted a few of our gang on the way. Brian and Naomi, half a world ahead and cruising. Duncan, then Rob, looking a little less comfortable, both a good kilometre or two ahead of us. We were into the meat of the race and, in all honesty I was feeling pretty good. 

Antonio dropped back as we passed the foot of La Rambla, under the aqueduct and, to our right, the Club de Mar. I hoped he'd be able to finish, despite his obvious pain. Knowing Antonio as I do, I felt sure he would give everything. We saw Carmen, Antonio's wife, waving and calling to us. We waved back, lifted by another friendly face, and I knew our man would be OK. Graham and I pressed on as the kilometres crawled by. We started to catch and pass a few runners, some walking. The breeze, mainly off the ocean, whipped and danced around the seafront buildings, offering blessed relief from the rising sun. Not hot, exactly, but warm enough for me. Graham kept a close eye on our pace as my RunKeeper voice chimed out of my Lewes FC shorts every five minutes. We were in the low 6's (per km). I figured that would slow somewhat when we hit the climb to El Stadio. We pressed on.

Around 15k or so we took a left turn. Perhaps we'd crossed a portal, time-travelled to arrive in the old stadium, before the mighty Mediterranean Games monolith rose to loom over the eastern end of town. Metaphorically, perhaps. For this was the Estadio de la Juventud Emilio Campra, indeed a much older stadium, regal, filled with whispers of past sporting deeds, now home to a keenly-marked American Football field, set inside a faded running track. We ran around that track as images from Chariots of Fire swam in my head. Subconsciously I tilted my head back - 'when I run, I feel his pleasure!' - and ran a little more freely than I had in a while. I snapped a shot of of the pair of us as we banked around the bend. 

   

Fifteen minutes later, into the 18th kilometre, climbing steadily away from the ocean along Calle de la Argentinita, Graham called it.
'Mate, you press on if you want to, I'm going to ease up'. 
I thought about pushing him, but stopped short. I'd been slowly winding it up, from gentle jog to steady chug. As the road rose I'd started leaning into the hill, effectively speeding up, up hill. This wasn't in Graham's race plan. I was in danger of stuffing things up for him. 
'OK mate, run well. See you at the finish.'
I set off and realised my legs wanted to push again. I felt elated. I'd been certain that lack of training would eventually catch me out. True, the impossibly hard Almerían streets had pounded my quads into mince. They throbbed in pain as I strode on. These are gonna hurt later. 
That's as maybe, but there are still three or more kilometres to go. Suck it up, fella.

Around 19K I spied Rob's yellow shirt. Like Antonio, he was showing signs of pain. His calves had mounted a mutiny. Pounded by concrete surely forged in the cruel heart of the Earth, they were locked in silent protest. We exchanged greetings and I offered an easy slap on the back before pushing on. In truth, my own legs were now in rebellion. All so familiar, ten years of experience reminding me all at once that this was how it would be, so best get on and finish. I grimaced. The voices were right. Unless I fancied a rather long walk, my only option was to push on.

Right at 20k I spied a familiar orange shirt. Lounging on the roadside, propped up against a thin, tall tree; Charliecat5.
Top man, I thought. He's come back to see his mates in. I assumed he'd finished and jogged back to this point. I was wrong.
'I didn't want to finish alone' he grinned as he stepped in alongside me.
'So I waited for Rob. And then you appeared.' 
I smiled. Typical of the man, it's more about friendship than results. Then I groaned. Oh no ... 
'You swine. You're feeling fresh, aren't you?' 
He chuckled, said nothing and stepped up the pace. I dug in. Oh well, at least he'll get me home quicker so this infernal stabbing in my legs can end.
I was working hard now, arms pumping, breath coming in rasps. I gulped water at an alarming rate, tipping the last of it over my head. I felt hot, in pain and desperate for the finish. I'd tried to avoid this, but in truth all I'd managed to do was reduce the suffering by a kilometre or two. 

We snaked through the markers around the stadium finally, mercifully, onto the ramp that led to the adjacent warm-up track and the finish line. As we rounded that corner a cheer went up. There was Team RC, all the 9K finishers, roaring us home. This lifted me again, I managed a wave and a grin - grimace? - as I chased the Cat around the top bend and into the home straight, crossing the line in his wake in an acceptable 2:11:11. 

   

What a cracking weekend.
A magnificent post-race dinner with Antonio (he finished, of course he did, thundering home to joyous applause from his mates), Santi, Felipe, Antonio Garcia, Paul, Carmen, not to mention our own international wabble of woudy webbles. Cerveza and Rioja flowed, plates of tapas, meat and fish appeared as the happy banter bounced around the Old Town restaurant. They're right, you know, Duncan and Graham. It's the people, these people, who make this what it is. The beaming smiles, the glinting eyes, pain and achievement shared, glasses raised for spluttered toasts. Absent friends, Auld Lang Syne, so much laughter.

   

I'll be back.

[Antonio247]

Medio Maraton de Almería XX
Sunday 5th February 2017

Well, that was different. 
I'll be back.

Congrats, S., on that beautiful report with memories from previous Almería half marathons and also for being able to go from a slower pace to a faster one. I've felt as if I had been running with you. It's a pity that I just ran with you the first kilometre and with MLCMM and you kilometre 11.I wish we had run together as many kilometres as possible.

I'm glad you had a good time in Almería again. The local council should give you an award for encouraging so many people to come to this town for so many years.

Looking forward to meeting you again.

Saludos desde Almería

[twittenkitten]

Medio Maraton de Almería XX
Sunday 5th February 2017


People. Every one of those races, and this one, has been illuminated by the company of wonderful people. A mixed bag; locals, the far-flung, artists and artisans, some I've known for decades, others I've only just met. MLCMMan writes about the company of runners, and he's right. It doesn't matter a jot if you're Haile Gebrselassie (I raced him here, you know. He won, by any number of streets) or highly underprepared, if it's in you, you're my kind of people. I was surrounded by them; from the creator of this fine forum to my Moyleman comrades, to the Brighton posse and friends from as far away as Sydney and Vancouver. Bliss.

Glad to see you did what I told you and just f*cking wrote it and clicked send ;-)

A beautiful account and a wonderful sentiment about the people being important. It is always the people that make a thing worth holding on to and yet I forget it, often. Cheers for a timely reminder. 

I have another thing to say thanks about - I shall take my own, drunken, advice about writing and I promise myself to simply write here. Just as it comes, discovering what I'm on about as it pours out. I've not allowed myself to do that for a long time and I miss it. I've half written an Almeria brain dump, will finish now I have an account.

[Sweder]

Thanks mate. Can't wait to read your take on proceedings

[suzieq]

As usual, a wonderful report; you make it come alive.

So glad I was able to make it over for another great weekend with so many great people.

[Sweder]

Sunday plod, 12.9 kms
1:57:07
Average page: 9.05 min/km
Calories burned: 1,181
Average HR: 112

A weird old session this Sunday. I set off around 8:40 in my road shoes, heading vaguely Twittenward, with no intention of actually flogging myself up and down the Medieval Stairmaster. I bumped into David Stacey and handed over his Almeria Half medal, kindly donated by Jules after David had left his on a bedside table in the NH.

I left the Twittenistas to do their thing, gently moseying through town. I bumped into them in the high street and again at the bottom of fearsome Keere Street. I felt a bit of a fraud. A few sniffles aside I could easily have joined in, yet the MAF routine prohibits it. Just walking slowly up some of these would send my heart racing past 125, so onward I shuffled, even having the audacity to stop at Ground Coffee for a barely-earned Flat White.

I set sail for home, switched road runners for offies and harnessed the hounds. About 20 minutes in I started to question all this. I can cope with the lack of beer, bread, rice, pasta and the prohibition of sugar, but denying myself the pleasure of attacking a steep hill slick with mud at full tilt is really too much. I ran, I jogged, I walked. My legs were a tad whiny, following their battering in Almeria last Sunday, yet it was all horribly easy. This terrain is not made for Maffetone, I grumbled inwardly.

Every now and then I'd glance at my Adidas watch. It started playing up, giving me bizarre HR readings. I re-set it three times on the run. The average HR across the three recorded runs is 112, so I guess I took it easy enough. I'll keep this up for another week but after that I'll have to throw in some livelier sessions. I run for fun, and this, I can assure you, ain't my idea of fun.

[Charliecat5]

I'll keep this up for another week but after that I'll have to throw in some livelier sessions. I run for fun, and this, I can assure you, ain't my idea of fun.

I for one will be glad to see you back to the world of lung busting hill running. There are adventures to be had.  
.

[Sweder]

I'll keep this up for another week but after that I'll have to throw in some livelier sessions. I run for fun, and this, I can assure you, ain't my idea of fun.

I for one will be glad to see you back to the world of lung busting hill running. There are adventures to be had.  

Ah yes, but for now, the meanderings of a deranged, under-carbed maniac must continue ...
Today's outing went as follow:

6.72 kms
57:06
Average page: 8:30 min/km
Calories burned: 610
(MiCoach KCal count: 893 - go figure)
Average HR: 122

Compared to my first run of this month, pretty much the same course, this was a bug-eyed sprint.
I worked harder to stay just under the 125 cap, occasionally slipping over but always walking to bring it back in range. The run was more enjoyable for this and I found I could ship up quite a nice pace on the flat/ down slopes. All the same, I feel MAF running is best suited to the Dreadmill or at least a flatter, more even course.

I felt fine after an hour, like I could have carried on ad infinitum - don't panic, dear reader. No chance of that, what with w*rk starting to ramp up nicely this week. Last Friday I worked on Scoop!, a high-end fashion show based at the Saatchi gallery in Chelsea. There was a good deal of lugging odd-shaped boxes up and down stairs. This felt like the kind of exercise Mr. McDougall talks about towards the end of Natural Born Heroes. I certainly ached in hitherto un-achey areas the day after.

As an extension to the MAF experiement (eating going well so far, only a couple of very minor indiscretions involving some ice-cream to report) I'm shooting for earlier nights. Not just that, but trying to spend the last waking hour off devices; no mobile phones, computers, tablets, Twitter, Facebook and the like. Instead, I'll read a chapter of a book before lights out. The aim is to extend and improve the quality of sleep, a vital companion on the road to Wellville. Let's see how that goes.

[Sweder]

Another, modest/ short, outing this morning.
The new sleeping thing is working fairly well. I'm not up past midnight watching rubbish (and therefore not tempted to snack late), putting down the tablet/ smartphone a little earlier and reading a few pages of my book before lights out. I feel I've slept better and, so far this week, haven't woken up in the middle of the night, something that's plagued me for a few months. It was way past 10pm last night, though, as I was following Sussex FA Rep side (on Twitter) that featured no less than six Rookettes (they won 4-0) and Arsenal's adventures in Munich and the resulting clamor for Arsene Wenger's snowy-capped head. Careful what you wish for, Gooners.

4.53 kms
40:11 minutes
Average pace: 8.52 mins/km
Calories burned: 412/ 566 KCals according to MiCoach
Average HR 123 bpm

Heart rate running seemed a little easier today. I ignored the watch and simply adjusted according to my breathing. Occasional peeks at the wrist confirmed I got it more or less right. The HR monitor lags a bit, anyway, which leads to unnecessary pauses waiting for the numbers to drop. Better to go with the breathing rate; I know when I need to slow down. 

I can't say I've noticed dramatic weight loss, but I do feel a good deal less podgy. I should have weighed myself at the outset, I suppose. Ah well, I'll just have to go with the old 'pinch an inch' test and base findings on how I feel. Not bad, at the moment.

I'd like to get a long run in this weekend, probably Saturday. My idea of a long run is to run half the Moyleman at HR pace. MiCoach reckons this will take appx 3:11 and change. I'd like to find out. It means missing out on Bevy ParkRun again, which is a shame as I enjoy the camaraderie, if not the filter coffee. Sunday brings an away trip to QPR with the Rookettes, so there won't be time for a long, slow burn, unless I set off before sunrise.
Unlikely.

[OutAlongTheRiver]

     

We could do a run TO the Bevy parkrun and then do the Bevy park run ... then get lift back with Sr Roper?

It's 9k along to Downs to the start ....

[twittenkitten]

Glad to hear that the regime is leading to you feeling better :-) especially around getting enough sleep. I think sleep makes a MASSIVE difference and I'm with you on getting away from screens a bit before bed. I generally find I can only lose weight when I'm making time to sleep properly and to eat decent food. Not only that, but I'm a much less grumpy bugger when I'm getting a bit more sleep ;-)

Long may it continue!

[Sweder]

We could do a run TO the Bevy parkrun and then do the Bevy park run ... then get lift back with Sr Roper?

It's 9k along to Downs to the start ....

This is something I'd thought about, perhaps even running back again ... 
OK (quick finger count) - I reckon we'd need to leave around 07:45 to make the start comfortably (averaging 8 minute kms)
We could always speed up a bit if we were falling short. Meet at mine? Coffee before we go if you like.

[OutAlongTheRiver]

Deal! See you there

[Sweder]

Of Mice and Men

29.04 kms
3:47:14
Average pace: 7:50 per km
Average HR: Not a clue (not bad for the first 10k, shredded after that)
Terrain: hilly, offroad

... and their best laid plans. The jaunt across to Bevendean ParkRun went as planned. 07:45 departure from Chez Sweder, nice easy pace (average 8 mins per km) in misty conditions. Up the Big W, summit crowned with Trumphair cloud, we forked right before Castle Hill Nature Reserve, crossed the Drove just south of the Amex stadium and hedged around the edges of a Tetrus of farmers' fields to Bevendean. We arrived 4 minutes before the off; perfect timing.

It was here things started to unravel. A wise man might have continued the easy pace around the ParkRun circuit, but not me. Not OATR, either, if his scorching first lap pace was anything to go by. We'd met Tom Roper minutes before the off, resplendent in full Captain Pugwash beard and looking mighty spritely, just a week out from the Brighton Half.

I took it easy, or so I thought, up the first set of hills. That was, until two lithe lovelies bounced past, light on their feet, tight lycra shimmering in the emerging sunshine. I tucked in behind and kept pace, overtaking them as the hill flattened. Once around the top I felt like letting my legs go a bit and thundered down the long drop towards the Dew Pond. I was flying. 4:10 per km, matching my Almeria PB pace, albeit down a pretty steep slope. I shot across the lower slopes and attacked the hills on lap two. Again, I felt the need to go on the down hill section. I've just this minute received an e-mail from Parkrun: 28:25, a minute outside my best time on this course. Strewth.

Apres ParkRun was taken in the Bevy. I sucked down a plate of egg and bacon and a mug of coffee before Rob announced the route back. We were going through Falmer, alongside Sussex Uni and up to Blackcap. Hurrah! Tom quietly reminded us there was a comfy ride back on offer, but we were full of ourselves. An hour later I could have wept at our foolishness. 

The climb up to BlackCap from Falmer is long. It is looooong. The five minute blocks ticked by. I walked, trying to keep my heart rate within range, but no chance. It was 135 to 140 just walking slowly. In the end I blew out the monitor, jogging to catch up with Rob, who had kept a steady, easy pace all the way. By the time Runkeeper chirruped the Half Marathon time, I'd had enough. 2:45 for the half. Not bad, I suppose, but my legs were shot and we still had an hour to go. 

When we finally hauled ourselves up to Blackcap I threw myself down onto the warm, damp grass, sucking air like a landed carp. Another error in this adventure had been not to bring any water. It's all well and good, this 'wait 'till you're thirsty' lark, but when you ARE thirsty you need to drink. There was no water here, so we had to press on. I took up my default, nothing-left shambling shuffle, all half-breaths and ugly stumbles. This has got me home on a few occasions where the wheels have come loose, and it worked a treat today. 

The sun beat down, a gentle zephyr stroked out backs, we couldn't ask for better conditions. The trail kissed out feet, soft, loving, tender by comparison with those brutal Andalucian streets of a fortnight ago. Everything hurt, yet, as I happily reported to OATR, it all hurt equally, which was nice. Feet, ankles, knees, quads, hamstrings, hips, lower back, and both nipples were long gone. What a catch. 

We made it home in 3:47 and change, a shade over 29 kilometres all in.
Next time I'll take some water. And some ibuprofen. 
And I'll accept that offer of a lift. 

   

PS: rewarded myself with not one but two pints of Harveys Best, first ale since Almeria.
Went down a storm, too. As did the Rooks, 1-5 to Tooting & Mitcham

   

[Sweder]

Twittens just happened.
That was tough after yesterday, all the more so for being my first visit to the Medieval Stairmaster in over a month.
I huffed and puffed around the narrow lanes, trailing in the wake of David, OATR and James McCauley, all of whom seemed laden with energy and good humour. The swine.

   

I've not abandoned MAF just yet, but like the Aussie contingent, I'm rowing back some on the slow runs.
Last night's visit to GBK involved a 'naked' burger (no buns), a glass of wine instead of beer & sweet potato fries. My inner Nazi detected something not altogether kosher about the coating on the fries, so I didn't have too many. The burger was divine, GBK's Kiwi Burger replete with fried egg, avocado, beetroot, accompanied by a nice, sour little coleslaw and corn on the cob slathered in butter. Delicious. 

Tuesday sees the completion of two weeks of MAF. There have a been a few slips along the way, but generally I've stuck to the plan. I have to say the weight loss has been minimal, but energy levels are generally improved and I'm sleeping so much better. The exception to that was last night, which I attribute solely to the two pints I had at the Pan.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Mate, it might pay to count your calories for a day or two. It's a painful process, but very, very enlightening. You only need to do it for a short time (1 to 3 days) to quickly see what is causing the weight problem. With the amount of running you've got under your belt and the elimination of bread, your weight should be dropping like Casanova's trousers.

[Sweder]

Mate, it might pay to count your calories for a day or two. It's a painful process, but very, very enlightening. You only need to do it for a short time (1 to 3 days) to quickly see what is causing the weight problem. With the amount of running you've got under your belt and the elimination of bread, your weight should be dropping like Casanova's trousers.

Calories? No-one said anything about frigging calories ...

Apparently I burned 2803 of the bastards on Saturday, 466 on Sunday.
I did scarf two burgers and a mountain of chicken & veg stew over the weekend though.
And there wewre those two pesky pints ...