So Long ... And Thanks For All The Fish

[Sweder]

I do love Douglas Adams. His sense of the absurd lurking in the shadows of everyday life is a joy. He'd have appreciated the agonies and ironies of my week, for certain.

As I umm'd and aahh'd over my forthcoming race this Sunday, weighing a ridiculous work/ life schedule against reasonable fitness and a desire to finish in style, fate leant a decisive hand. Pulling pallets around the halls of Ocean Business I've torn something in my right calf. It's not going to heal quickly, it's constant and it's painful. Game over, man. I hate to finish with a whimper but a deal's a deal. My marathon days are done. Three London's, Paris, Brighton, the muddy madness of Steyning, the unbearable heat of Cape Town, the magical vistas of Connemara.

More running adventures await, not least the Seaford Half in June and the devilish Point To Pinnacle in November. There will be a fair bit less of me in these parts in the weeks ahead. The stage is set for others to regale us with their Tales Rude and Glorious. I can hardly wait.

What a long, strange trip it's been.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Bugger bugger bugger - that's a shame to end on an injury, but c'est la vie.

Chin up Sweder, it's not over yet... we could always build a fire ... sing a couple of songs ... why don't we try that?

[El Gordo]

No need to rush into declarations like that. Yep, Brighton is out the window. But there are injuries and Injuries. Let's hope yours is merely an injury, and not... An Injury.

This comes at a bad time, or perhaps a good time. Am trying to talk myself back into a positive frame of mind, for reasons I should post.

But hang on in there, mate. It's the disappointment and emotion talking right now. In a couple of weeks, the world will be a different place again.

[The Beast of Bevendean]

How bloody. Get some rest and maybe some physio. But I think the retirement hashtag I saw used on Twitter is ill-judged. Anyone whose future ambitions include the Point to Pinnacle can hardly be spoken of as retired. There's more to marathons than Brighton, and more to running than marathons. We confidently look forward to reports of further, greater victories

[Sweder]

But hang on in there, mate. It's the disappointment and emotion talking right now. In a couple of weeks, the world will be a different place again.

Thanks mate, but no need to sweeten the pill, the disappointment is not really that bitter. I took that decision to pack it all in after this one a while ago and I'm happy to stick with it. Marathon running, training especially, is a rather selfish pursuit.

To be honest my preparation in the past three weeks has been appalling. I may well have broken down anyway, so perhaps this latest twist is a blessing in disguise. I'm feeling pretty chipper, all things considered.

[Sweder]

Cheers Tom. Retirement from marathons, not running per se. I still love to run, and will do until my bones give way and I'm swallowed up by my beloved turf. But I'll not tread the twenty-six-point-two again. C'est finis, la comedie.

[Antonio247]

Best of luck on your last road marathon, S.! Although you can never say "Never again".

I think it is sensible to say goodbye to a distance and a terrain that can cause a lot of injuries but the marathon can call you even if you don't want to run it again.

[marathondan]

Ah, bugger. A reminder of how fragile is the privelige to be able to run.

I wouldn't be too surprised if there is an itch to be scratched in a few years' time, but we all know that your home is in the hills and trails, not on the roads. Putting road marathons behind you - at least for now - will open up a wider vista of adventure for you, and entertainment for us.

Hope the calf heals soon enough, and you enjoy a bit more time with your family.

As you say, what a long, strange trip it's been. I'm sure there's an essay in there.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Very bad luck, but hey, it was on the cards and it always is. Hope you see things differently when the waters settle, it's probably worth another crack some day. In any case, I reckon it's not so much the distance itself that is selfish (in reference to what you said a few posts back), it's the obsession with time which can befuddle the brain...
Looking forward to the next episode of running adventures, I really am.

[Sweder]

Terribly sad to learn that a young man (23) collapsed and died on the course yesterday. That brings my own tribulations into sharp relief.

Congratulations to my fellow Sunday runners, all of whom bagged decent PBs on what turned out to be a pretty good day for distance running. Adi clocked 3:41 and Stevio, formerly of this Parrish, romped home in 3:07. Astonishing. My errant calf throbbed all morning, as if to assure me that it really would have done for me had I been daft enough to line up. The pang of perceived loss lurked just behind, so I drowned it in a couple of pints of Dark Star Brewery's Revelation. What a delightful ale that is.

A special mention for Lel Smith, outstanding centre back for the Rookettes, who completed her first marathon in aid of Team Tim, named after her late brother. I hear the Lewes ladies fitness coach, Steve, was 'in agony' yesterday. Plentiful were the cheerful tweets between players, asking for video footage of Steve attempting to descend the stairs. How cruel.

[The Beast of Bevendean]

Yes, there were some fine performances there. The first three men were all inside the course record. Poor lad, and his friends and family. There's a growing medical literature on the phenomenon of apparently highly-fit, healthy young men who die taking part in marathons, and other events, but no one has a way to prevent it.
You're right, it puts our woes in perspective, but if you like schadenfreude, and who doesn't, then you may be amused to learn that, having pulled my back while picking up a mouse on Saturday evening, I marshalled yesterday with some stiffness and could barely walk to collect my prize, a Brighton marathon 'hoodie', as I believe the young people call them. They'd run out, just as well, as I don't think they had them in tweed or corduroy. This morning I couldn't get downstairs. My tilt at the Three Forts, aka a walk in Robert Macfarlane's footsteps, may have to be called off.

[marathondan]

That should be OK in a week or two, Tom? I've had seemingly crippling back attacks during marathon training which have passed in such timescales. Ibuprofen, and sitting down as little as possible, seem to be the primary prescriptions.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

... you may be amused to learn that, having pulled my back while picking up a mouse on Saturday evening...

What sort of mouse? And why were you picking it up?

Just asking...

[The Beast of Bevendean]

You're right, of course. There used to
be a man who would march up and down Oxford Street carrying a placard denouncing sitting, inter alia, as the cause of most of the world's evils

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

That should be OK in a week or two, Tom? I've had seemingly crippling back attacks during marathon training which have passed in such timescales. Ibuprofen, and sitting down as little as possible, seem to be the primary prescriptions.

I'd also point out that I went from being completely crippled (as in, barely able to stand, let alone run anywhere) to running a half mara up a misty mountain in the space of 48 hours thanks to the wizardry of an angelic ultra-running physiotherapist. Ask Ash or Andy B. for verification ... all I'm saying is ... Three Forts is days away yet ... plenty of time time to get the back sorted!

Come on, get with the program Tom!

Sorry Dan, I've hijacked your post.





Oh, and if all else fails, there's always single malt.

[The Beast of Bevendean]

... you may be amused to learn that, having pulled my back while picking up a mouse on Saturday evening...

What sort of mouse? And why were you picking it up?

Just asking...

A house mouse, Mus musculus, of course.
The cats had it, and while Mrs and Miss R were vocal in expressing the view that it should be rescued, they failed to take any real steps towards this aim.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

... you may be amused to learn that, having pulled my back while picking up a mouse on Saturday evening...

What sort of mouse? And why were you picking it up?

Just asking...

A house mouse, Mus musculus, of course.
The cats had it, and while Mrs and Miss R were vocal in expressing the view that it should be rescued, they failed to take any real steps towards this aim.

Good, good. For a moment there I thought it might have been a computer mouse ... which would be kind of ... embarrassing, really.

So did you rescue it or feed it to the cats?

(Sorry Dan, sorry Sweder, but this is fascinating).

[The Beast of Bevendean]

I once tried osteopathy. I was working near Trafalgar Square, where the British School of Osteopathy used to be. For very little money, one could be treated by students. I was allocated a beautiful young Frenchwoman, and twice a week would go there and, naked except for my underpants, be manipulated by her. I was struck by the thought that a few hundred yards north, men were paying considerably more for what was, in essence, the same treatment.
Then she qualified and they allocated me to a sweaty man, a fellow citizen of your country, MLC. It was nowhere near as enjoyable.

[The Beast of Bevendean]

... you may be amused to learn that, having pulled my back while picking up a mouse on Saturday evening...

What sort of mouse? And why were you picking it up?

Just asking...

A house mouse, Mus musculus, of course.
The cats had it, and while Mrs and Miss R were vocal in expressing the view that it should be rescued, they failed to take any real steps towards this aim.

Good, good. For a moment there I thought it might have been a computer mouse ... which would be kind of ... embarrassing, really.

So did you rescue it or feed it to the cats?

(Sorry Dan, sorry Sweder, but this is fascinating).

Yes, I did. The cats are well-fed enough; one of them, Percy, is the sort of cat who's been poured into his fur and forgotten to say when, to paraphrase P G Wodehouse

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I once tried osteopathy. I was working near Trafalgar Square, where the British School of Osteopathy used to be. For very little money, one could be treated by students. I was allocated a beautiful young Frenchwoman, and twice a week would go there and, naked except for my underpants, be manipulated by her. I was struck by the thought that a few hundred yards north, men were paying considerably more for what was, in essence, the same treatment.
Then she qualified and they allocated me to a sweaty man, a fellow citizen of your country, MLC. It was nowhere near as enjoyable.

Perfectly understandable Tom ... as much as I love [in a blokey punch-to-the-shoulder-kind-of-way of course] my fellow Bruces, I'd rather be ... serviced... by a Monique or a Camille anyday than Bazza or Daz.






[heavy sigh]