Month: March 2005

Just a quickie to report on a successful 17.5 miler today. Coming just a couple of days after that slightly flawed experience at Maidenhead, this was a welcome tonic. Deciding where to go on these long runs is a problem. The simplest solution is up the canal for (long_run_mileage/2), then back again. The setting is always tranquil and arresting, but an out-and-back route is never ideal, and the longer the run the less ideal it becomes.… READ MORE.... …

It seemed like several days since I’d done a race. I was getting twitchy. There’s something satisfyingly to-the-point about a race called the Maidenhead Easter 10. Where, when and how far. A pair of running shoes and those three words. What else do you need? How about a urination strategy? The more genteel runner prefers to describe it as “hydration strategy”, but it amounts to the same thing.… READ MORE.... …

Where did that Spring from? A few months ago, I mentioned that there’s always a single identifiable point that divides summer from autumn. You wake up one morning, and there it is. Last year, it was the day I ran that 10K race in central Reading then flew off to Ireland. The game was up, I said. Months of icy darkness were on their way.… READ MORE.... …

I’m getting anxious about the mile to kilometre exchange rate. We’ve been a bit complacent about the 1.61 rate that’s held for a few years now. The Hamburg Marathon next month is measured in kilometres of course. But I’ve been nervously reading about the recent running boom in Germany. Demand for kilometres is increasing all the time, and there’s a rumour that there may have to be a “readjustment”.… READ MORE.... …

There’s a point in the Silverstone Half where the course seems suddenly thrown into uncertainty, and you become part of an eternal snake, looping up and down and back on yourself. You lose sight of where you are. Those people over there – are they faster or slower than you? Are they the fat bastards or the fast bastards…? And as far as the eye can see, ahead and behind, nothing but long lines of pensive runners.… READ MORE.... …

“Thank God I’m an atheist….”, as Dave Allen once said. I met him once. He turned up one Saturday morning to buy a case of Champagne when I worked in a wine warehouse in Battersea. Crikey. Must be twenty years ago. 1985. It was a brief meeting, but there was something interesting that I’ll mention. We chatted for a minute or two, as you do.… READ MORE.... …

Middling to wobbling. That’s a Huddersfield expression. Or at least, I knew a guy in the town who used to say it when asked how he was. I thought of it this evening as I plodded round Tilehurst with the local running group. We’re the middle group. The middling to wobbling group. Only four people from the middle group turned up for this jaunt, which was probably a good thing.… READ MORE.... …

I’m taking no chances. After yesterday’s plod around the block, the remote calf twinge of the previous evening had shuffled a little closer. Not quite a wave at me, but definitely a sort of waggle of the little finger. So tonight I cancelled my run and went for a walk instead. To the pub. I needed a break. It’s been a tough week.… READ MORE.... …

It’s too quiet. Eerily quiet. I’m talking about my body. After yesterday’s half marathon, I expected an ache or two. Nothing. The best I could manage was the faintest of calf twinges as I stepped out this evening for a recuperative 4 miler. Not even a real twinge. More of a yawn than a “hello”. What can this all mean? Either I’m fitter than I thought I was, or I’m heading for a dastardly fall.… READ MORE.... …

We were nearly halfway round when I overheard a woman in front of me wearily ask her running partner: “How many miles are there in this race?” “Thirteen”, he panted. “Thirteen! Oh bloody hell!” This struck me as a curious exchange. Come on. You get up early one Sunday morning, pin your race number to your top and put your running gear on.… READ MORE.... …