June June, There's That Bloody Spoon Again. Or Not.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Only Matrix fans will understand that thread title, and then maybe not. Never mind, it will do for now.

The last eight weeks have been frenetic ones of intense travelling, of which I shall post a hopefully extensive blog hopefully very shortly. There is a tendency on my part in writing forum posts to vacillate between wanting to get it 'right' and not publish before it reads well, and on the other hand just thrashing it out for the sake of getting something in 'print'. The result is often a half-way house, but this time I want it to be just 'right' because, well, hopefully you'll see why when it's posted.

Please be patient, I'll return as soon as I can. 

Cheers, runners.

[El Gordo]

I'm looking forward to it. I was going to mail you, but will let the story eventually appear here (thank you).


"There is a tendency on my part in writing forum posts to vacillate between wanting to get it 'right' and not publish before it reads well, and on the other hand just thrashing it out for the sake of getting something in 'print'. The result is often a half-way house..."


Yeah, tell me about it. Except for me, the result is usually no house at all. Just a couple of shrink-wrapped pallets of bricks, and another that's been ripped open with a few piles here and there. [Ed - This metaphor has run out of road. Or steam. Or gas.]

[Sweder]

"There is a tendency on my part in writing forum posts to vacillate between wanting to get it 'right' and not publish before it reads well, and on the other hand just thrashing it out for the sake of getting something in 'print'. The result is often a half-way house..."

Yeah, tell me about it. Except for me, the result is usually no house at all. Just a couple of shrink-wrapped pallets of bricks, and another that's been ripped open with a few piles here and there. [Ed - This metaphor has run out of road. Or steam. Or gas.]

That pretty much sums up my contributions to RC. If I waited until I was completely happy with an entry I'd never post anything. So I publish then frantically edit when reading them back has me blushing like a teenage boy caught with a nudy mag. 

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Marathon Man Meanderings: The Run to Teddington Lock and Other Adventures.
 
Meanderings? Surely this seven-week adventure to the other side of the planet was all about hard and fast running with marathons and mountains and suchlike?
 
Well regrettably, no.
 
I’m afraid that the seven weeks of touring yielded a grand total of only two runs, and those were memorable less for the runs themselves, but for those with whom I ran. Despite this, I will attempt to maintain a running focus in these musings, as this is after all, a running forum, and not some dreary and pretentious travelogue blog (excuse the tautology, but I quite like the way it rhymes).
 
In the beginning then, there was the London marathon.  Although Mrs MLCMM may argue this was never really the focus of our travels, in my eyes, this was the linchpin of our holiday. Should I receive a ballot entry, it would have been not just the linchpin, but the whole reason for our travels. History will record the disappointing fact that I again failed to receive a ballot entry (for the third year running), and so it was that the idea of a marathon-centric  holiday faded as quickly as my training schedule.
 
Regardless of disappointing news from the ballot, we began our excursion to the mother land in late April where we were met at Heathrow by our eldest, Christopher, now resident in London and a fellow runner, albeit for him nothing longer than a very sensible half marathon. Over beers and pub meals we carefully planned our time with him and shoe-horned in a gentle outing along the banks of the Thames, near to which he lives at Kingston-upon-(of course)Thames. This run occurred just a day or so later, when at an early hour we left his flat and jogged that-a-ways along the river which he assured me was flat, fast and pretty. Indeed it was, although I was flabbergasted to see just how much faster Christopher had become since we last ran together back in Australia.  He graciously kept my pace however and so the run was indeed flat and pretty and not so especially fast, which I, at least, found to my liking.
 
In one of those weird moments of synchronicity, our turnaround point proved to be an extremely memorable one. It was one of those ‘blue plaque’ places of interest that meant very little to our eldest, but struck such a strong chord with me that I was telling people about it for days afterward. Our halfway point was Teddington Lock, but whilst it rang a distant bell somewhere in the back of my brain, it wasn’t until we arrived there and saw the plaque that I recognised it (as the plaque confirmed) as the site where Monty Python’s famous Fish Slapping Dance sketch was filmed, and being one of my very favourite Python moments so was thus the first of the significant highlights of our holiday arrived at.
 
The run to Teddington Lock proved not only memorable for Pythonesque reasons, but also in practical terms. Just  few days later I found myself in Lewes standing alongside Sweder, he of broken knee, and CharlieCat5, cyclist extraordinaire and on his way to becoming a runner extraordinaire. We were standing at the start of the Moyleman, that immensely tough marathon that is spoken of in hushed tones by us mortals who quake with fear at the very thought of its vertices and mud. Fortunately on this particular day we were attempting little more than the merest slither of Moyleman splendour, the run up Black Cap.
 
I, it must be said, was not in scintillating form, but at least the previous run to Teddington Lock had brought a burst of reminiscence to lungs, heart and legs, bringing with it an inkling of what was now required of them in these high mountains on this, it must be said, glorious spring day in the Sussex Downs.
 
The run was so ridiculously easy for CC5 that he brought with him a weighty backpack, more to resemble some form of ‘training’ instead of the quaint ramble with a couple of old, doddery blokes that it actually was.
 
The amble up the vertiginous slopes of Black Cap was pleasant enough, in the sense that any lung-busting, leg-mangling and head-warping self-flagellation can be considered ‘pleasant’, but I was at least holding my own. Holding my own, that is, until we actually got under way, when it became very clear to me that aged, knee-less Sweder was still a formidable old mountain goat, and CC5, well I think he’s just in the wrong running club to be honest. He’s as fit as they come, and then some. He was however decent enough to hold back with us old fogies, chatting amiably until nearing the top when inexplicably he took off for the summit without as much as a ‘by your leave’. I stumbled on, wondering if I’d somehow in my antipodean bluntness said something inappropriate to offend him. However all was revealed and put right with the world when I finally reached the summit and he presented us with foaming beakers of beer which he had manfully carried to the summit in his backpack. Rarely has a beer been more gratefully received!
 
That evening we were joined in our beer-drinking exploits by the newly married Seafront Plodder and surprise guest, none other than RC supremo El Gordo. Along with our partners it made for quite a party. Many drinks were drunk and many races, training plans and future running conquests discussed. Fortunately I didn’t commit to anything foolhardy or, at least, nothing that I can remember.
 
One thing we did happily commit to however was to help Sweder with his preparations for the JDRF support station at the London Marathon the following day. This entailed an early start, a drive through a rainstorm of biblical proportions (which did not bode well for the race itself), rugging up against the bitter cold, installing a few banners and placards and then … quite some waiting. The rain had at least abated, but it remained cold for the rest of the morning.  Eventually the race began, the crowds built and we quickly entered into the spirit of the event which, it must be said, is huge. Apart from helping Sweder, we were there primarily to see the elite men and women runners and of even greater import, Gus the Gorilla, a.k.a. MarathonDan. This we did and so the running flavour of our holiday remained intact, for the moment at least. Gus by the way was the lead gorilla, and also way ahead generally in the costume stakes. Despite noble efforts which included teapots, phone boxes and giant pieces of fruit, the time-proven and noble gorilla costume remains a firm favourite and Gus was among the best on ground that day for sure. Sadly once Gus passed our vantage point we soon had to leave to make our way to Hertfordshire where we were to spend a few days with a cousin. Now let me tell you something, lest you fall into this trap yourselves. If you plan to spend time at the London Marathon and depart via The Underground, it’s going to be a whole lot less unpleasant if you do not have with you suitcases, backpacks and camera bags which are suitable for seven weeks of overseas travel but most definitely not suited to travel by underground or any sort of public transport on the afternoon of London Marathon day. Many sights I have seen, and many fraught and even foolhardy adventures I have undertaken, but departing London that day was like nothing else I have ever experienced. However, that it worked at all speaks only well of the London transport authorities, London Marathon officials, police and sundry other logistical people who ensured that it did, at least, get people to where they needed to go.
 
Following a most welcome sojourn in Hertfordshire it was time to say goodbye to old England and fly to Latvia. First though we had to navigate our way from our son’s flat in Kingston-upon-Thames to Luton airport and then find our way through Luton airport. While ultimately successful this would prove one of the most difficult parts of our journeying, almost on a par with our London Marathon trauma. Traversing London on a day of train break downs, fighting a crowd of apparently millions all trying to use Luton airport at the same time, and then coping with the delights of surely one of Britain’s oddest airlines, Wizzair, would be a masochist’s delight. A masochist I am not however, and I would venture that Heathrow on even the busiest day seems like a walk in the park on a fine, sunny day compared to the terrors that awaited us at Luton. You could fairly say that it is not my favourite airport. Never mind, we somehow arrived safely and on time at the departure gate and fairly soon were winging our way to our next destination, Riga.
 
Let me say at the outset that I did not run in Riga. There is however a very important run that I would very much like to do there. Back in 1941 when the Nazis invaded Latvia on their presumptuous and disastrous push toward Moscow, they rounded up all the Latvian Jews and forced them to live in the Riga ghetto.  A few short weeks later they rounded them up again and marched them out of town to an area of forest in the Rumbula district and shot every last one of them. Including some German Jews they sent over by train, in all they shot 28,000 people there in the forest, now finally preserved as the memorial it surely must be. Among the 28,000 were many blood relatives of my wife (distant cousins, but relatives none-the-less, all carrying the family name) and so, of course, of our children. At the ghetto, which has been preserved as a museum, there is a commemorative wall carrying the names of all the Jews confirmed as being massacred by the Nazis. We counted 40 relatives and are fairly certain there are a great many more. For my wife and son Christopher (who was with us), as you can imagine, this was a very poignant visit. And so the run I have in my mind to do (next time) is the twelve or so kilometres from the ghetto to the massacre site, as some sort of inadequate tribute to those who were killed there and along that road.
 
Those matters out of the way we enjoyed a few more days in Riga (especially the food – oh my God Latvian food is wonderful!),  before catching a bus to Tallinn in Estonia. The road to Tallinn from Riga is flat and largely featureless, but once you hit the capital city all that changes. Such an amazing town! So much history and culture that just drips on you everywhere you turn. We also arrived at an auspicious time, with preparations under way for the 25th anniversary celebration of independence (from the Soviet Union). With well over a millennium of history as a nation, this is almost unbelievably the longest period in which Estonia has managed to avoid occupation by another nation.
 
Very, very few runners were seen by us in either Latvia or Estonia, but that was about to change as we disembarked from the ferry crossing from Tallinn to our next port of call, Helsinki. My father attended the 1952 Olympics here and often spoke with fondness of his visit, frequently advising me to both visit Helsinki and attend an Olympic Games. We did the latter when the Games came to Sydney in 2000, and now I also had the opportunity to see Helsinki and its Olympic stadium. This we did, and were surprised to discover it actually dated back to the 1930s, Helsinki having originally been chosen to host the cancelled 1940 Games. The stadium is an impressive (and now heritage-listed) art deco affair, largely preserved as it must have appeared in the 1950s. Its athletics track however is rather narrower than modern tracks, i.e. it has tighter bends and is therefore being used less and less for athletics events. Of course in this day and age of big money sporting events the pressure is on, and now it seems the might of the football world with all its money is bending the will of Finland and the UNESCO Heritage authority and so the stadium is to be ‘modernised’ to ‘international footballing standards’. So it seems we visited just in time to see it largely as my father must have, all those years ago. Perhaps I’m being nostalgic, but it is a rare piece of beautiful art deco sporting architecture – surely a rarity, and as such I think deserves to escape the ugly hatchet of sports consumerism.
 
From Helsinki we travelled by overnight ferry to Stockholm. Here, as in Finland we saw a great many runners, and I was curious as to their rather peculiar gait. Nearly all of them ran with an odd shuffle, and even the young fit superheroes ran this way and surprisingly slowly. I can only put it down to perhaps the climate, and in my fanciful mind I imagine it’s how people more used to skiing run during the brief summer weeks, as if still on skis. That’s how it looked to me, anyhow.
 
Stockholm was yet another astonishing city, with more history and culture than you can poke the proverbial stick at, but it must be said the price of everything there was crippling. With the cost of everything between 50% and 100% higher than back home (and Sydney is no cheap city in which to live, I can tell you) it became a time of austerity for us. But truly a wonderful city and I would dearly love to return there some day and perhaps join the ranks of shuffling joggers along the waterfront.
 
From Stockholm we boarded the fast (but not very fast) tilting train to Copenhagen, and from there to a small village out in the wilds of Denmark where we were hosted by my wife’s cousin. This was glorious country: flat, coastal and utterly peaceful. Perfect, perfect running country. But did I run? I did not. Why? I ask myself this very question. I am a fool for not taking advantage of it, and I must return there. I must.
 
The next leg of our journey is a similarly sad story of missed opportunity. From Copenhagen we boarded a massive cruise ship and spent a week touring the Nordic fjords.  Spectacular is barely adequate as a word to describe this grandeur, and certainly it is something everyone should see at some stage of their lives. And the missed opportunity? Well, it’s likely you’ve already guessed. Cruise ships of course have their own fitness gyms and running tracks, and this one certainly did. Did I spend time pounding out a few kilometres whilst the majesty of the fjords slipped slowly past? No, I did not. Why did I not? Honestly, I can only put it down to stupidity. I am kicking myself now, dear reader, I can assure you.
 
I can’t leave the summary of Norway however without one very salient piece of running information. As many of you will know, several of us in this little club of ours have in recent years run several Point to Pinnacle half marathons in Hobart, billed for the last two years as ‘the world’s toughest half marathon’. Well my friends, in Gerainger, the small town at the head of the Geraingerfjord, way up north in the icy wastes of Norway is a little event called the ‘Gerainger Fjord to Mountain’ half marathon, which looks to be, like the P2P, entirely uphill, but covering over 1,500m 'opp' (P2P is a mere 1,270m) and with an extremely nasty last few kilometres, and with snow assured at the summit, despite the event being held in June. Any takers? A pic of the event poster is attached, to pique your interest.
 
Scandinavia was of course very beautiful, and a true highlight of our trip. It was however very cold. That much was unsurprising of course, and whilst we were prepared for it, it was still a relief to fly to the warmth and sunshine of Portugal, the penultimate leg of our journey. Now of course, when I think of Portugal, I immediately think of Carlos Lopes, former world marathon record holder, winner of the 1984 Olympic marathon gold medal and the first man ever to break 2h08m for the marathon, and of course as Portugese as … well, port.
 
Despite this, there would be no running for me in Portugal either, despite staying in a glorious spot an hour north of Lisbon, with wide open hillside running and coastal and beach running within a short distance of where I was staying. Things were not going well for me in the athletics department, it is true. But I was having a ball, and Portugal is a stunning country that I definitely will be revisiting.
 
Our final stop in Europe before returning home was Spain, hosted by the inimitable Antonio , so well-known to so many RCers, and our most gracious host extraordinaire. Although we had intended a run together, this was scuttled by our trotting off to Granada almost as soon as we arrived to visit another cousin of ours who has retired there to a superb vineyard and orchard homestead in the Sierra Nevadas. Antonio still maintained a running theme to our visit of course, taking us to (among many other places) the stadium finish of the annual half marathon, that den of RC iniquity Molly Malone’s, and also presenting me with my very own Medio Maraton T-shirt! Antonio and his charming wife Carmen were fabulous hosts and it was with deep regret that we had to leave and return home.
 
Many people have asked us since our return what were the highlights of our trip, and of course there were many. In running terms, the same is true despite my woeful attempts to maintain some running form. Certainly it was fabulous to see the London Marathon from the roadside rather than on the television, and to at last see Almeria and meet Antonio was a great experience, even if it was a poor substitute for actually running the half marathon there.
 
Just meeting so many good RC friends and their partners was really what made the trip memorable for me, and I trust the global circle of friendship that is RunningCommentary will continue for many years yet!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

The 100 days/100 miles challenge.

Off and jogging early this afternoon with a 2.24km / 1.39mi outing.

100 miles in 100 days seems a great way to kickstart the old motivation engine again. Maybe I'll stick to 100 miles, maybe I'll slip into gear and aim for something bigger and better after a week or two. Who knows? What I do know is that just at the moment, I need this. So here we go.

Vrooom ... putt putt ... cough ... vrooom?

[Antonio247]

Congratulations on that original travel report related to running, MLCMM. It's a pity that we couldn't go for a run as we had intended but we did some walking instead in Almería, Cabo de Gata-Níjar natural park and in Roquetas de Mar.

I'm very glad you enjoyed your stay in my country as well as in the whole second European tour.

It was great to finally meet you and your lovely wife, J.

Best of luck with your training! I'm getting motivated with all these new running and other sports reports.

Saludos desde Almería

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Gracias Antonio!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Here it is!

OK the proof copy has at last arrived from the printers. Now for one final read-through to iron any last bugs and it'll be available. Soon, I promise!

Exciting!

[Sweder]

Ripper!!

[marathondan]

Yes, that's a lovely travelogue MLCMM. It's almost like you've been honing your writing skills...

It's a great shame I couldn't make it down to Lewes to spend some time with you. But it was good to at least wave to you physically over about 12 metres, rather than the usual virtual wave over 12,000 miles. 7 weeks back at work, I reckon you'll be ready for another trip somewhere?

As for the book... truly awesome. It's the holy grail of running bloggers, and it's almost in your hands...

[Sweder]

I loved the travelogue. Concise, packed to the brim with detail. As Dan says, you've been sharpening your pencil.
And here we can see why; the long-awaited (hopefully inaugural) diary, hewn from this virtual running library. In 3D no less!

I must say I shall not settle for a downloaded version. I'll be shelling out the big bucks to have mine physically despatched. Perfect material for a cyberless week in the West Country. Do get a move on, OM. Tempus fugit.

[glaconman]

Great holiday write-up MLCMM. You really made the most of your 7 weeks. And the new book looks splendid. Chapeau!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Thanks gents! Oh, and Glaconman, the movie rights are still up for grabs!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Run a mile in my shoes.

The running log doth betray me. So very few runs over the last ... hmm, 14 months or so. Appalling. I have reasons of course, but when I needed it most, I couldn't find the motivation I needed to hit the streets. Never mind, that's all changing.

The '100 days' challenge of one mile per day for one hundred days came along at just the right time. I just needed some easy, sensible, gentle way of getting the running habit back into my life on a consistent basis, and these short runs are quite easy to do, even at five in the morning. I can really squeeze these in without thinking too much about it or suffering too much afterwards. And so here we are, already five days in with four runs completed and with me thinking I might even be a runner again. A little bit, anyhow.

Anyway, it's good. I'm enjoying it. And here's my first chart ... pretty basic to begin with. We'll see how it develops over time:

[marathondan]

Plotting the average - I like your style. So you're also going with the super-short, almost-daily approach? Interesting.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

So you're also going with the super-short, almost-daily approach? Interesting.

Well, to begin with, Dan. In truth I hope after a week or three to be properly motivated to get back to half-marathon training for a race in September.

But, we shall see. For the moment, running without any pressure is exactly what I need, so this is good.

[Charliecat5]

So you're also going with the super-short, almost-daily approach? Interesting.

Well, to begin with, Dan. In truth I hope after a week or three to be properly motivated to get back to half-marathon training for a race in September.

But, we shall see. For the moment, running without any pressure is exactly what I need, so this is good.

But pressure is good... PRESSURE is good isn't it... OH GOD! THE PRESSURE!

[Charliecat5]

Many drinks were drunk and many races, training plans and future running conquests discussed. Fortunately I didn’t commit to anything foolhardy or, at least, nothing that I can remember.
 

It has been a while since you posted your travelogue (aka runninglogue) and I realise that I have passed no comment. This is because I have been taking my time... reading it several times... savouring every sentence and paragraph.  It is lovely piece of writing leaving me green with envy about your travels... particularly your trip to Finland... a place I've always wanted to visit.

There is just one point which I don't think is entirely accurate.  I am fairly sure, and have witnesses, that you agreed to run the Moyleman in 2016.   

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

...
There is just one point which I don't think is entirely accurate.  I am fairly sure, and have witnesses, that you agreed to run the Moyleman in 2016.   

Ah yes. I am fairly sure, and have witnesses, that everyone was half-cut that night. I know I certainly was. But yes, The Moyleman. I quake with a mix of fear and excitement at the very thought of it. If most of the lights turned green, I'd jump at the chance, honestly I would. But is it a realistic expectation that I could actually make it over there next year? Even if I did agree to do so, I'm afraid it isn't going to happen unless there's a near-miracle.

Still, stranger things have happened...

[Sweder]

All joking aside I'm pretty sure G said as much (re travel issue) at the time,. I recall him saying he'd LOVE to run the Moyleman ... but would likely have to wait a few years to be able to get back over for it.

With that in mind I've asked the Moyleman committee to hold a rolling place open for him for the next five years.