(10-08-2012, 03:37 PM)Sweder Wrote: I've just booked my flight to Almeria.
Easyjet out Saturday 26 Jan 2013, back on Tuesday 29th.
I'm not even sure the race is on the 27th, but what little I can find on the interweb suggests this to be the case. The flight was as cheap as a Piers Morgan jibe about athletes not singing the National Anthem.
I may be the only one going next year, but after talking to Jules about it this week (after a lovely gentle jog, during which my calf whined like a badly maintained jet engine) I've decided
a) I'm going and
b) I want a PB
So that's sorted then.
Hmm. A man with a plan. Glaconman will be pleased.
Regarding plans, and thinking ahead, which, er, I suppose plans have to involve.... I am bizarrely committed to getting to the Point to Pinnacle in 2013. Since mentioning this possibility to M about a year ago, she has had it in her diary, and apparently it is happening.
I mention this now because I'm thinking I will need every scrap of holiday available to make such a trip worthwhile, so Almeria may not happen for me next year. Indeed, Almeria hasn't exactly happened for me for some years now, but that's another matter.
This is most excellent news - two men each with a plan. In a similar way, whilst I will be the only RCer going to P2P this year (although you could almost consider Chris a peripheral member) I'm still considering it an RC race, so 2013 will be the third such instalment as RC's "Southern Almeria", and I think if you boys speak to SP about it, he'll assure you that a couple of weeks in Oz will be well worth your while. Happy to play host again too.
I have failed miserably to capitalise on the post-Olympics endorphin rush. Why?
Events, dear boy, events.
Some here know that my Mum is unwell. Not to put too fine a point on it, she's dying. Slowly, horribly, fully conscious of her situation, trapped inside her failing body by one of mankind's cruellest conditions, MND. Unable to cope after 'hanging on in quiet desperation', last week her partner broke down and fled, wailing, into the night. We boys (there are three of us) rallied round, and the last week or so has been my turn to live-in and help out. We're in touch with (and supporting) her husband, too, and it's hoped he will return soon, with more help in place.
I'm grateful of this chance to spend time with my Mum. Anything I can do to ease her suffering, to make life just a shade brighter, feels incredibly important. That sid, driving up and down motorways to and from work - happily, we're rather busy. Not to be sniffed at in these troubled times, yet wholly inconvenient to my personal plight - is taking its toll.
Plod-wise I've been reduced to taking Mum's Cairn terrier, a yappy little fellow named Toto (yes, the same breed as Dorothy's in TWOZ) to the local rec. each morning. He can't be trusted off the lead on open land, so I release him in the well-fenced grounds at the end of Mum's road whilst I shuffle round and round an area not unadjacent to that of an athletics running track. Let me assure you that I use the phrase ‘Oi! Come ‘ere!’ rather than bellow ‘TOTO!!!’ in as manly a voice as it’s possible to muster, when the time comes to leave. Today I bagged a whopping 1.6 miles (there's only so much circulatory perambulation a man can take), but it's better than nothing, just about.
My stint is over now. I plan to return to the hills this weekend, when I'll find out if this relative rest has helped my whinging calf. A fortnight in Hong Kong beckons in ten days. Dreams of hooking up with the Wanchai Hash for a blast up the Peak are, sadly, only that. My chances of keeping up with those jaunty jungle beasts are slim to none, and slim just left town.
Selah.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A small update to say that the fated calf (see what I did there?) has held up under lightweight scrutiny, including a 3 mile plodette this morning. I'd celebrated the return of Fursty Ferret by draining three of them last night. Having slept in I found myself heading out with the sun high above, almost throbbing in its haste to bake the hills. The result was a sweat-fest, a lumbering hack through waist-high, wheat-white grass and bobbing pastel wildflowers. The dogs came along reluctantly, looking at me through accusing eyes.
'We should have been out here hours ago' their skulking look implied. Quite right too.
I'll go again in the morning, a little earlier, perhaps. Might even try a lurch up to Blackcap.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sunday run saw the return of the twinge, so I kept it steady at around ten minute mile pace, lumbering over 3.8 miles of gently roasting hillside. Warm blood seemed to sooth the beast and I felt no more pain. I figured the steep haul up to Blackcap might be asking too much, so I cut across at the base of Mount Harry (aka Wicker Man Hill) and took the stoney path back to the stables. The hounds dragged themselves along in my rumbling wake, tongues lolling as they overheated.
After walking the dogs last evening I feel later outings might be the order of the day. I can't seem to get out early enough to avoid Apollo's blazing chariot, and these evening strolls, from seven thirty onwards, are delightful.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A fair question, my inverted friend. I guess a lot depends on travel/ fitness.
I'd hoped to hit the Jog Shop Jog trail, but that horror is in October, a month that lurks menacingly behind the next one (and we're almost there). The physical demands are that of a marathon, so it's not likely.
Almeria is nailed on, fitness permitting. That's at the end of January, and I'd really like to attack a plan to bring home a PB. That will be super tough, Jules having dragged me round in 1:40 not so long ago. I was in fine fettle then, a good deal lighter and stronger. But I have time, and a winter of muddy hills to help whip me into shape. Plus, for the first time ever, I'm thinking of laying out and, where possible, sticking to, a training plan. Without that, shooting for sub 100 minutes is just pissing in the wind.
I have a place in the Brighton Marathon 2013 (April). If Almeria goes to plan I will carry on the quest and aim for sub 3:50. There again, there are more interesting quests out there. I still plan to revisit TOM (expensive) and Connemara (brutal), almost certainly* not next year. P2P is booked for next year, so an autumn marathon OR the JSJ would fit that bill. I've never managed a 'full running year' like that, though, so perhaps I should do what it says under this.
*lottery wins aside.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A couple more short, sharp shocks, this time with a bit more gusto.
Tuesday I crunched out 3.8 miles, enjoying the cool kiss of a damp, cloudy start. I wound it up towards the end, hitting 6.3 minute mile pace for the last half a mile or so. The calf remained silent.
This morning's outing was even shorter, barely 2.5 miles, but with a good sprint to finish. I need to do some speed work to help my overall race pace, and some long slow plods just to build some stamina. I soundtracked the run via Planet Rock, enjoying Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd), Man Of The World (Fleetwood Mac), Heaven and Hell (Black Sabbath) and a blast of early U2, I will Follow. Great, blood-strirring stuff.
I leave for Hong Kong on Saturday determined to eschew the fleshpots, at least sometimes, in favour of the well-appointed hotel gym. I won't spend long on the treadmill (no need to go over that again), but I'll be seeking out rowing machines, static bikes and eliptical challenges. EG best stand by for another frantic phone call.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I hope Hong Kong is treating you well, and you find relaxation in the gym. Sorry to hear about your mother. I've been there too.
On the matter of gyms, here the womenfolk have bought a cross-training machine. I sneered, so as a consequence have been told I'm not allowed to use it. I may get up at dead of night, swear the cats to secrecy, and try it out.
χαιρέτε νικὠμεν
Next race(s):
In the lap of the gods
In a desperate bid to stave off the inevitable Guinness Belly I dragged my weary, jet-lagged carcass off to the hotel gym last night. I would have taken to the streets but feared dodging the traffic, human and otherwise, may prove fatal.
The trek to the gym was a workout in itself. I followed a labyrinthine trail through corridors, out of the building, across roof-top gardens, past tennis courts (busy with loud, sweaty Americans) and an unoccupied pool. I ended up in another hotel, the Hyatt, wondering if I had a case against the Rennaisance Harbour View under the Trades Descriptions Act. It seems their boast of a 'fully equipped gymnasium' is misleading at best.
The air-conditioned torture chamber was all hustle and bustle, full of travellers pounding their sleep-deprived bodies at various speeds on a selection of devices. I opted for the static bike, mostly because the dreaded treadmills, all eight of them, were fully loaded. The occupants, of various sizes and shapes, plugged into their machines via a selection of headphone wires and fail-safe cords, looked for all the world like lab rats.
I set the controls for the heart of the Earth ... er, that is, a 20 minute interval session. Back in Lewes, the Mighty Rooks were well into the first half in the early RPL match (v the hitherto unbeaten 'Stoners' from Wealdstone), so I traded musical accompaniment for frantic stabs at my iphone, cursing the patchy wifi, desperate for updates via my alter-ego*, Rookmeister, on Twitter. I managed 15 minutes of uncomfortable pedalling, working up a decent lather, before one of the running machines became available. Its' user, a lady of ample proportions, staggered away as if tipsy, head wrapped in a towel, searching blindly for the water fountain. I jumped off the bike, surprised at the 'burn' in my IT bands (clearly underused in my usual pursuits) and up onto the vacant machine.
The match, still goal-less, was just into the second half as I selected 'quick start', working steadily through the phases until I reached a comfortable speed, around 7 minute/ kilometre pace. On the interval setting this cranked up to sub 6 min/ km, keeping my sweat honest and free-flowing. I bashed away for twenty minutes or so, until a combination of erractic internet and the alarming puddle of fluid forming at my feet made me stop. Thirty five minutes of cardio would have to do.
After a quick shower I scurried off the the Wanch Pub, eager to replace lost fluids and to catch up with events at the Dripping Pan. In the cramped bar a succession of local bands sought to impress a small, enthusiastic crowd on what turned out to be 'Open Mic' night. Never in the history of popular music have so many rock classics been desecrated in so short a time. On the plus side, Lewes won a penalty in the eightieth minute, Nathan Crabb tumbling in the Wealdstone box. Beckford stepped up to slam home what proved to be the only goal of the game. Yesterday my beloved Rookettes won a hard fought battle against Reading, banking their first three points in the FA Women's Premier League. I filed a match report from HK, patched together from various twitter feeds. I'm not sure if this has ever been done before, but it seemed to work. The Sussex Express thought it accurate enough to use for their mid-week edition.
*Barry Collins donned the fabled cloak in my absence. Read his superb 'Fever Pitch: 20 Years On' here. It appears on page 24 of yesterday's Rooks matchday programme. The tone will resonate with a number of RCers.
As for the 'music', the undoubted highlight was provided by a dashing, flaxen-haired youth. He lurked in the shadows, clutching his drum sticks, begging guest spots with each act that took the stage. His performance on a cover of Sweet Child of Mine was both exemplary and appropriate, seeing as he is actually only twelve years old. His Dad was on hand, beaming proudly as his son launched a blistering assault on the house kit. I briefly pondered the deluge of opprobrium such parental 'mis-behaviour' (he was there until well past midnight) would draw from an organ such as the Daily Mail, and laughed. Who gives a damn? This lad was GOOD.
His best work appears on this clip, right after the most fearful caterwauling. Trust me, this was one of the better tributes paid that terrible night. The chap's guitar was not the only thing weeping as another timeless masterpiece was mercilessly mauled. I refrained from recording that so as not to perpetuate Mr Harrison's grave-spinning agony. What was done to 'Knocking on Heaven's Door' constituted motion to war.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I'm feeling saucy, so have requested a guest spot on the next WH3 (Wanchai HHH) run this Sunday. I fly home the following Saturday night, right in the middle of another fabled Nash Hash, the All China Nash Hash, a coming together of all 8 H3 'kennels' for a full weekend of trail running and debauchery. Depending on what occurs this and next week I might aim for the Saturday afternoon event (I'll be working on Friday, sadly). Two hashes would be a major result. Each run would be longer than anything I've done lately, almost certainly in rocky/ hilly terrain.
More news as it happens, Hash fans.
On on!
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
So, I've signed up with the WH3 (Wanchai Hash House Harriers) for Sunday. The start point is somewhere along a far-flung Metro line I've not travelled on before. Directions are as follows:
'Kam Sheung Road MTR Exit B and follow chalk to the start
4pm start
Toilets but no showers
Chinese onon'
The last line indicates a local establishment is to be blessed with our soggy presence after the down-down. How nice for them.
The hares (trail-setters) are Emma Royde and no name Mae, or Mae Verlaga. This, of course, means nothing to me. Ah well. Whilst perusing the WH3 website I came across this Hashing guide. It gives a real insight to the working of the H3 hive mind. What a dark and twisted place that is. By the way, do also check out the Hare Line, a simple listing of hares selected for a series of runs. Some quality hash names amongst them.
Last night I squeezed another really nasty 35 minute session out on the (next door hotel gym) tready. I assumed I'd run about ten k, based on the lake of sweat forming around the pummelled machine and the extreme fatigue taking hold in my legs. This must be what Mr Tumnus felt when Jadis, the White Witch, turned him to stone. But no. 4.84 'somethings' - had to be kilometres, really. I'd set an uphill run, with the incline getting steadily steeper. The final eight minutes saw an incline of 7. 7 what? Who knows. It was horrible, horrible. The young woman next to me flicked increasingly worried glances in my direction as my wheezing grew ever louder and the sweat splashed in hot pools around my slap-slapping feet. Finally she gave up, seeking solace on the eliptical trainer, far away from this large, purple-faced man, clearly about to suffer an unpleasant trauma.
Now I read MLCMan's casual mention of FOUR SOLID HOURS on one of these bad boys and I shake my head in disbelief. Astonishing stuff.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(30-08-2012, 09:49 AM)Sweder Wrote: Now I read MLCMan's casual mention of FOUR SOLID HOURS on one of these bad boys and I shake my head in disbelief. Astonishing stuff.
I've told this story before but I'll tell it again - one of our local ultramarathon heroes scored himself a sponsorship deal with a sports store. Part of the contract required him to do a 24-hour run on a treadmill in the store's front window as a publicity stunt. No worries, son, he duly did the run and broke the Australian 24-hour record in the process.
But you know what was really astonishing about it?
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...it was the first time he'd ever run on a treadmill.
No Hash run yesterday thanks to an unfeasibly late finish on site Saturday night and the mother of all after-party that wrapped well after sun-up on Sunday morning. Sitting on the train for the ride out to Sky City was more than enough to contend with, a real 'never again' moment. 24 hours on I'm still tres fragile. The area we were to have run in (and the Hash almost certainly did) in the New Territories is just across the causeway from Asia World Expo (my home for the next six days). It looks wonderfully hilly. Given the heat yesterday I'm glad to have missed out.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(03-09-2012, 04:15 AM)Sweder Wrote: No Hash run yesterday thanks to an unfeasibly late finish on site Saturday night and the mother of all after-party that wrapped well after sun-up on Sunday morning. Sitting on the train for the ride out to Sky City was more than enough to contend with, a real 'never again' moment. 24 hours on I'm still tres fragile. The area we were to have run in (and the Hash almost certainly did) in the New Territories is just across the causeway from Asia World Expo (my home for the next six days). It looks wonderfully hilly. Given the heat yesterday I'm glad to have missed out.
Bloody hell, things must be crook if you're passing up a hash. Next you'll be telling us you're on the wagon!
Funnily enough, only this afternoon on my way back from the post office I spotted a couple of small piles of flour on the footpath. Sure enough at the next junction beyond the railway bridge was an arrow with "HHH" written underneath it.
Hmm, maybe it's a sign? I might just go and practise my sculling skills. Or at least try and improve on the lack thereof, that is.
(10-08-2012, 03:37 PM)Sweder Wrote: I've just booked my flight to Almeria.
Easyjet out Saturday 26 Jan 2013, back on Tuesday 29th.
I'm not even sure the race is on the 27th, but what little I can find on the interweb suggests this to be the case. The flight was as cheap as a Piers Morgan jibe about athletes not singing the National Anthem.
I may be the only one going next year, but after talking to Jules about it this week (after a lovely gentle jog, during which my calf whined like a badly maintained jet engine) I've decided
a) I'm going and
b) I want a PB
So that's sorted then.
I've just read this post today. I wasn't on the internet much in summer. Even if you're the only member coming next year, you'll be very welcome here, S. I'll try to find out if the half marathon will be on the last Sunday in January.
