15 miles

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Great effort Charlie. Mixing it up proper.

"I realise then that I had overcooked the first half of the race."

Just be prepared to forget this and relearn it many, many times.

Ain't that the truth?!

Yes, well done the Cat, and as you say, you're dangerously bordering on a land of obsession. But your fast mates are correct in saying at least it's a healthy obsession. They remind me of a bloke I once met through the course of business and got to know quite well. He was another one of these fast runners (2h45m marathon) and trained three times per day in the lead up to a race. He ended up being so distraught at losing the local marathon which he felt sure he should have won, that he packed up his bags and moved to China.

That, my friend, is a true story and an indication of where a running obsession can lead you. Still, I guess there's nothing really wrong with moving to China. Bugger of a language to learn, mind.

[Charliecat5]

I am running… honest…  I’m just not writing about it.  Busy, busy, busy.

A few weeks back when giving my new ‘really crazy’ running friends a lift to the race… I asked them to share with me the secret of their success.  They hit me with a simple formula:

Fast running = volume + intensity + weight

I pointed out that I adhere to this very same formula in terms of my drinking practices.  They weren’t impressed.  They gave me a hard stare.

So I have been working hard since then to increase my volume (miles) and intensity (speed work).  I am working less hard to decrease my weight – hoping that this will follow the increases in volume and intensity.   So what have I been up to:

I’ve done a 13 mile run over the Downs with Radar.

I have designed a new ‘intensity’ session that involves running around a local park.   Each lap is approx. one third of a mile and I run each circuit progressively faster until I fall over.  I then start again.  Proper technical running eh!   I have invented this as work has got in the way of track nights with the Herd in recent weeks.

However, I did manage a five mile run around town with the Herd this week which included a few hill reps.

A 10 mile romp yesterday took place before the storm arrived and then this morning was the first anniversary of the Twitten Run malarkey.  A Twitten Run which followed the Moyleman Organising Committees annual dinner last night.  A few of us had Grappa heads to contend with as we pounded up the slopes.   The run was a little slower and definitely more subdued that normal.  

So all in all… things are going ok.  This week is wall to wall travelling – Midlands, Scotland and Newcastle.  I will take my runners and see what happens.  But there is a plan to run the first half of the Moyleman with Radar at the weekend… so a few days’ rest won’t hurt.  And anyway I need to focus on the drinking: volume, intensity and weight.

[Charliecat5]

I'm in a hotel, in Newcastle and have spent the whole day working holed up in my room.  This afternoon I was on a Skype call with a client for three hours.  By the time it finished it was dark and I really didn't fancy running down unfamiliar pavements alongside queuing traffic.   So I decided to try out the hotel treadmill - I've never used one before and you've got to try things haven't you?

The first challenge was working out how the massive contraption worked... the second was working out what my pace was in kilometres as I only ever run in miles.   Eventually after several aborted attempts I had programmed in 5 km and we were off.

If you ever want to slow down time - to change the time/space continuum - go running on a treadmill.  I swear that every step forward washed away about a second of my life - never to be found again.   I realise that some people love the old treadmill - but for me I could not get my head around all the effort required to go nowhere.   I've tried it... but it's back outside again for me.  The real world - pavements, cars, pollution, I don't care.  Obviously out in the wilds is best.

[Bierzo Baggie]

I know of somebody who lives in a village, surrounded by stunning mountain scenery, some wonderful trails on his doorstep and yet 90% of his running is on a treadmill. Each to his own I suppose, but for crying out loud .... 

[Charliecat5]

They made me do it.  The bastards.

The Goat and the River Man dragged me to the Bevendean Dowb Parkrun this morning… I swore after the last Parkrun (and first) that I wasn’t a Parkrun kind of guy.  But the aforementioned chaps had been telling me for some time that Bevendean is different as it involves a big fat hill and is all off-road - my kind of running apparently.

Having run out of excuses (or not having my excuses accepted anymore) I found myself climbing into the Rookmobile at 8:30 this morning.   I explained bitterly that I still had the lurgie, that I was full of last night’s early Christmas dinner and I had the dregs of a hangover pounding in the back of my head.  But they ignored me and chatted about football.

As we arrived the sun was just making an appearance, so after the habitual selfie, we wallowed to the start line ready for the off.   The Bevendean Down Parkrun is quite a small affair – approx. 25 runners today – so at least the start wasn’t congested.  My game plan was to follow the River Man… which led to the first surprise… that we were pretty close to the front of the pack.   Then we hit the HILL.  This is relentless bastard of a hill which gets progressively steeper.  It climbs for at least two thirds of a mile and we had to go round twice.  

Once over the top we had the fun side of the hill to contend with which provided the legs the opportunity to race… the lungs still screamed though, as they had thought the downhill would provide some respite.   But having been passed by a very fit guy I'd made the decision to dig in and hang onto his coat tails (strange he was wearing a coat with tails to be honest).

We finished the first lap and I didn’t feel that bad – given my lungs were clogged with snot – and off we went again, back up the bastard hill.  It felt tougher this time around – although my stats told me later that I ran up it quicker the second time – and now of course I knew what I was facing.  As I reached the top for the second time, my lungs were threating strike action of a ferocity that would put Southern Rail to shame. 

The downhill was no easier either – the legs starting to do that jelly thing as I was once again overtaken by the fit guy again (I'd overtaken him on the uphill).  I tucked in behind Julie to keep a decent pace going and then as we turned the last corner I managed to put in a spurt (so to speak) to the line, overtaking a couple of runners to finish in 5th place!    

I hate to say it… but I did quite enjoyed it. 

I wonder what time I could do if I was feeling on better form?
 
             

Photo is thanks to Rob 'River Man' Read (The Three Amigos*)

*Fools

[marathondan]

Excellent work! It's a while since we've had an elevation profile posted. I take this as a good sign.

[Sweder]

I rather like the way Duncan is holding onto my arm with his tiny little hand ...

[Charliecat5]

“It’s very hard to understand in the beginning that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners.  Eventually you learn the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants to quit”

I don’t know who said that, but I like it.  I’m running quite a lot at the moment… at least three times a week if not four… and have run the long-haul over successive weekends since returning from the Land Down Under.  The last two weekends have seen Radar and I knock-out 13 milers over Moyleman terrain and the weekend before we crashed a fantastic outing with some of the running greats (Cam, Jules, Sweder, et al.) managing to nail 11 odd miles.

The long runs are not fast – in fact in terms of pace they are nothing to write home about - but they have been fantastically enjoyable.  We’ve run through driving freezing rain, we’ve slid down muddy hill sides on our arses, we run over trails so frozen that they hurt your feet… and we have run through the pitch black. 

A memorable jaunt out with the herd this week started with a cryptic email a couple of hours before we were due to meet suggesting we bring our head torches.   On arrival we discovered that the plan was to run Caburn by the light of our own making.   I also discovered that my torch lacked the ability to actually make light (dead batteries).  Not to worry – I met the criteria to join the run (I had a head torch, they didn’t say it had to work).  As long as I ran on the shoulders of others it was fine.  

The night was freezing, the trails were as firm as you like and the stars shone as those their lives depended on it.  It was beautiful.  We ran across trails I know like the back of my hand… muscle memory and moany and groany (aka my feet) conspired to land every footstep just as I expected it to be.   Running across the field from the dew pond back towards the golf cause was as accurate as an arrow fired from the bow of Legolas, even though I couldn’t see more than a few yards in front me.   Seven and a half miles flew in a tick of a heartbeat.  Glorious running. 

So the point of the quote… I’ve lost that niggling little voice that wants to quit… now all that’s bringing me to a halt is legs that won’t run any further.  At mile 11 this morning as I came off the top of Blackcap the body just kicked in and took off down the hillside.  A friend of mine past on two wheels in the opposite direction … I don’t know what he thought as he passed the grubby, sweaty and grinning loon coming the other way… but I thought life was just brilliant.

                     

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

The running life is simply brilliant, isn't it? And indeed, the competition at our age is definitely the internal one.

If you fancy a bit of night running, and haven't seen it already, you need to watch this (short) video made by fellow RC forumite Glaconman. It's brilliant:

[Charliecat5]

It was a blast… the sort of blast you get when fired from a cannon with a damp wick.  In hindsight I simply wasn’t prepared for running 13 miles on the hard streets of Almeria.

For those of you who torture yourself with my ramblings you will know that I don’t do races and I don’t do road running.  For me it’s all about hills and trials.   So before I even touched down in Almeria I was on the back-foot so to speak. 

On a positive note, apart from THAT two hours and eleven minutes the weekend was great a great success.  I loved spending it in the company of new and old friends, making new adventures in the cafes, beaches, restaurants and bars of Almeria.  Having the time to get to know this bunch of looneys a little better was fabulous.  And there is nothing like shared experiences to warm the cockles (or anchovies in this case). 

But the run…

I have quite a list of excuses… some I tabled before I even left Blighty... which included in no particular order: shin splints, a burgeoning cold (which has now arrived by the way), very little in the way of road training, and of course an over-indulgence of beer in the days (alright weeks… ALRIGHT MONTHS) before the trip.  However, I can also add to this list of mighty excuses some really crap nutrition leading up to the start line.  Apparently a KitKat for breakfast and a couple of energy chews on the way round doesn’t cut the mustard.

But the real reason…

The excuses had an impact for sure… but the real reason I struggled were the niggling voices in my head.  As I said above, I arrived telling myself that I don’t like races and I don’t like road running so as I stood on the start line prior to the chaos that marked the beginning of the race, I had already lost.

But run it I did…

Ten ante meridiem came and went.  Four of us stood at the back of the holding pen sharing a bit of nervous banter and snapping photos of the chaos unfolding around us.   The rest of the pen rammed to the gunnels with what appeared to be Spain’s finest war mongers.  Brightly coloured t-shirts and flags.   As the whistle went, the 9 kilometre runners, who were in their own pen behind us, surged forward passing left and right as they fought to get in front - it was fantastic mayhem.  We shuffled forward and the clock started ticking. 

I was smiling at this point, falling quickly alongside Rob (OutAlongTheRiver) but struggling to find any pace amongst the maddening crowd. With a mix of big and small steps we slowly ran the first kilometre to only discover a water station handing out refreshment to a rabble who hadn’t even broken sweat yet.  Strange.  Having said that Rob disappeared only to catch me up again a kilometre down the line with a bottle of water in his hand.  By mile two (sorry for switching between kms and miles) we started to climb and I lost Rob to the crowds and incline behind me.   This was now a race of my own… surrounded by good hearted Spanish runners in mighty fine voice… but precluded by a lack of linguistic understanding... this was now a solitary race.  

By mile three, I still couldn’t find the room ahead of me to set a decent and planned pace.  Already, my ambition of running a sub-2-hour half was beginning to fade… by mile 5 my lack of nutrition/energy hit me like a tonne of bricks.   A gentle decline down to the sea kept me in contention with the noisy war mongers, but as mile 6 slipped by they disappeared out of sight albeit the cacophony of noise still echoed around the streets and buildings. 

Mile seven was a long straight flowing both ways with the quick runners already coming back towards me.  It was really tough along this section but nice at the same time to see my fellow misfits cross my path, some ahead, some behind.  But it was after passing Ash and Graham that the wind really fell out of my sails as I ground to a shuddering halt.  The first walk of three as I attempted to re-boot the engines and get what I now call the Almeria shuffle back on-stream again.

From thereon in it was a case of head down and suck it up… the pace ebbed and flowed as I trudged around the course, doing my best to take in the sights.   At mile ten I decided that I didn’t want to run over the finish line alone – I hadn’t come to Almeria to run a lone race… I’d come to run with great friends – so I hatched a plan to stop with exactly a mile to go and wait for Rob, who at that point was only 3 or 4 minutes behind me.   It was a cunning plan, but oh boy, did the next two miles conspire against me.  I swear that they got longer the further I progressed down their evil backs. 

After a lifetime I reached mile 12 and stopped, and waited.  Unbeknown to me, Rob had been struck down with cramps and was fighting his own battles, so it was Billy Goat Gruff who came waltzing around the corner – I could hear him long before I saw him.   As always the old git was relentless in his running style, pushing faster and faster behind me as we ran in the last mile to eventually cross the line in two hours and eleven minutes.   Without the wait I estimate my time would have been two hours five, but it’s hard to tell.

The upshot?  Well it has reinforced my love of the hills and trails.  I am not a road runner, I'm not built to be a road runner, and I have no real desire to achieve PBs. However, as I was sitting having a coffee afterwards, my good friends Brian and Naomi told me to give it a couple of days and then I’ll find myself thinking about doing it again. 

And unbelievably, I’m already considering Almeria 2018.  But perhaps we can try out those beautiful mountains rather than the crazy mayhem around town. 

As a footnote, many thanks to Antonio who could not have looked after us better.  It was a privilege to become your friend and to run my first half marathon in your home town.

[Antonio247]

Well done, Charliecat5! I'm glad that in spite of being used to off road races you took part in my local half marathon which is quite tough especially if you're used to dirt tracks. Next year, as you suggest, we could go to Baños de Sierra Alhamilla from Pechina or from San José towards Cabo de Gata lighthouse.You'd enjoy the dirt tracks and the scenery.

I'm very glad we became friends and I appreciate a lot that your first half marathon has been in my home town.

Looking forward to meeting you again.

Saludos desde Almería

[suzieq]

Great write-up CharlieCat5!  Maybe next time I'll be running the half with you and we can aim to run under two hours.  I keep saying that...one day it might happen!

[twittenkitten]

I loved spending it in the company of new and old friends, making new adventures in the cafes, beaches, restaurants and bars of Almeria.  Having the time to get to know this bunch of looneys a little better was fabulous.  And there is nothing like shared experiences to warm the cockles (or anchovies in this case). 

...

it was Billy Goat Gruff who came waltzing around the corner 

2nd chunk above had me laughing out loud! I may have to call him that from now on ...
And on the first point - I am in complete agreement with you. Having the chance to get to know this bunch of loonies better was the best bit of Almeria for me too. And cheers for helping me think of running as a series of adventures. I'll be honest, I struggle with the fact I'm slow, unfit and not as much into sadomasochism as the rest of you seem to be ... I don't run as fast or as hard as the rest of you, nor can I keep up with the drinking. And actually I don't want to keep up and I sometimes feel a fraud as a result. 
But going on adventures that really speaks to me, along with shared experiences. And that is the great thing about reading your race report, I get a view on what it was like for you. Good on you for keeping on and also waiting for someone to cross the finish line with :-D And I'll be back in Almeria next year - I may even run a half marathon. See you there?

[Charliecat5]

Since Almeria I have racked up a total of 4 km worth of running.  But… I have spent a week in the magnificent mountains of France throwing myself (and my family) down their slippery slopes with nowt but planks strapped to our feet.

Beautiful snow, clear blue skies and crisp mountain air – it was a glorious week.  It is interesting to note that we were skiing somewhere between 50 and 60 miles a day… but replacing the calories, and more, with hot chocolates (and squirty cream, obv.), ribeye steaks and copious amounts of Belgium beer.

The only thing that marred the week slightly was a constant battle with a cold.  This is a cold that reared its head before and during the Almeria weekend, but somehow I kept at bay throughout the week before we headed south.   It really is a story of mind over matter (or ‘snotter’ in this case) as I was resolute I wasn’t going to let a cold get in the way of my skiing.   So all week I lived on Nurofen cold and flu tablets and set out each morning like a loony, determined to eke out every last ounce of the day. 

But now I have arrived home, my body has rebelled.  I ache… I have a cold… I’m feeling somewhat depressed to have left my beloved mountains behind.  I’m sad to have missed out on this weekend’s running shenanigans in and around Lewes.  
 
So there's only one thing for it… It’s time to start planning… there has always got to be an adventure in the pipeline.   Moyleman… Lake District… surfing... touching my toes... On on on…

[twittenkitten]

But now I have arrived home, my body has rebelled.  I ache… I have a cold… I’m feeling somewhat depressed to have left my beloved mountains behind.  I’m sad to have missed out on this weekend’s running shenanigans in and around Lewes.  
 
So there's only one thing for it… It’s time to start planning… there has always got to be an adventure in the pipeline.   Moyleman… Lake District… surfing... touching my toes... On on on…

Post holiday blues & a shitty cold ... sounds grim :-(  

I realise, loony that you are, you're extremely unlikely to take any such advice ... but hope you're finding a bit of time to nurture that rebelling body a little since you've been back. Another view is that it's telling you what it needs!

I hear you about planning the next adventure though, an excellent tack. In fact, exhaustion and planning the next adventure reminds me of a favourite philosophy quote:

"If sleep is the apogee of physical relaxation, boredom is the apogee of mental relaxation. Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience." 
- Walter Benjamin

I've always taken it to mean you need a lull in order to plan the next heist. I've always hated the lulls, but I am learning to tolerate them. Speaking of which, I need to find the next race to enter. I am looking for a 10K, any suggestions?

[Charliecat5]

Three weeks since Almeria.  Four weeks since I’ve run in my beloved hills.   With the family away it was the perfect weekend to give myself a good old adrenalin hit and strap on the trail shoes.   An old school text conversation earlier in the week and a plan was hatched.  BGG, OATR and I would run the second half of the Moyleman to check the state of the route.  You can read an excellent account of this here.

The run itself was great… good company… lovely views and Downland tracks flowing like velvet.  I was packed full of energy – fuelled by 7 o’clock porridge and Naomi’s Fat Balls; but for the first time in my running experience… all four wheels fell off... I mean really fell off... sheared away from the axles and left on the verge. It was weird… it was confusing… I didn’t like it.   I run at the front of this particular herd… I don’t struggle at the back.  Yet here I was… struggling.  Well and truly at the back. 

It all started at Bo-Peep – although it probably started before – for some reason I developed a blister on the underside of my right foot, dead centre of the arch.  Now I know I hadn’t worn my trail shoes for four weeks and I had skied like a loon last week strapped into ski boots, but really nothing had changed – same shoes, same socks, same trails.  But a blister appeared.  And the problem with blisters is that you can’t run them out.  It was either a long cold walk home, or I had to run it in.  The trouble was that we were still a couple of miles from the half way point.  

I tentatively mentioned my grief to my running mates (alright, I moaned constantly for the best part of 40 minutes.  I eventually stopped moaning when it really, really began to hurt).

The blister led to a change in gait and cadence – I slowed down.  Both of these events conspired to trigger a rebellion of the legs like I have never experienced.   By the time I reached the bottom of Caburn, my IT Bands were screaming (they have never, ever done that before); my calves were popping like magic candy, and my quads almost jumped out to find their own, and flatter, way home. 

For the first time in my running career I found myself walking up Caburn.  This simply doesn’t happen in my world.  

The boys kindly waited for me at the golf course and I managed to hunker down and run Chapel Hill and the last foray up the high street alongside them.  But I’m a broken man.

Still, next week we’re going to run the first half of the Moyleman.  I might wear my other runners.

   

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Welcome to the dark side. You are now a runner. Mwahahaha.

[Charliecat5]

I realise, loony that you are, you're extremely unlikely to take any such advice ... but hope you're finding a bit of time to nurture that rebelling body a little since you've been back. Another view is that it's telling you what it needs!

Yep... I tried that... for almost a week.  I've broken it now.

[twittenkitten]

I realise, loony that you are, you're extremely unlikely to take any such advice ... but hope you're finding a bit of time to nurture that rebelling body a little since you've been back. Another view is that it's telling you what it needs!

Yep... I tried that... for almost a week.  I've broken it now.

Errr, well done?

[Charliecat5]

One of the things about committing rambles to paper (electronic or otherwise) is that you have a record of all the stupid things you’ve done previously.   Two accounts have been rattling around the old skull since Saturday’s run, and a little exploration through my running blogs this morning have bought them back to mind.

1)     A little while ago my trail shoes of the time, which incidentally are exactly the same model as the current version, inexplicitly caused a blister.  At the time I put the episode down to having given them a thoroughly good washing… the sort my Granny was wont to dish out to poor unexpecting grandchildren when Granny’s were allowed to do that sort of thing.   
 
However, I could quite easily build a hypothesis that suggests that the ‘new’ pair have broadly covered the same amount of miles as the ‘old’ pair, which makes one wonder whether the shoes are at fault, rather than yours truly.  It’s a proposition that I would be pleased to hang my hat on.
 
2)     The second blog I hardly dare re-share with you… as to be honest… it was a particularly stupid incidence.  Remember when I decided to change my running style to land firmly on the front of the old feet – front planting.  Instead of breaking this new technique in slowly, like over many years, I plumped to run eight miles straight out of the box and completely buggered up my legs.

Well this is what I feel like now.  The blister’s impact on my body has been severe.  I am genuinely struggling to walk (in most part due to the two-inch-wide blister on my right foot) but definitely also due to pummelled legs. 

I am not sure how to play this now… having just booked another five days skiing in four weeks’ time.   Apparently I should listen to my body… but if I did that, I’d never leave the sofa.

The plan thus is to take it easy this week and then try again at the weekend to see what happens.