Run for your life

An excellent week

2012-01-30T18:41:00.000+01:00

The Clarendon sign in a snowy Hebden - last winter

For everyone involved with the organization of Hebden's annual Sports Day that takes place on August Bank Holiday Monday, a sumptuous dinner was held at the Clarendon Hotel last Wednesday night, courtesy of our genial hosts, Ashley and Hayley Crampton. This popular Yorkshire Dales hostelry has an excellent reputation for the quality and perfection of its fine menus and traditional well kept ales. I'm afraid to say, I availed myself somewhat greedily of both and retired to bed rather late in the evening feeling considerably heavier than when I set out!

Dam on Grassington Moor with snow clouds in the distance

I'd like to say I went for a 'run' round Grassington Moor the following morning, but that would be gross exaggeration. Floundering would be a better word. I'd made sure I took my camera to have lots of excuses for numerous stops - when I seemed to take longer than usual to focus and arrange my shots. Most of them turned out to be a load of rubbish! My six mile jaunt lasted nearly one and a half hours but I really enjoyed the laid back pace, the solitude under a dramatic sky with snow clouds in the distance, the company of ubiquitous grouse, whistling teal and the wind whispering through the rushes by the dam.

Time to stand and stare - waterfall in Hebden Ghyll

All in all, I ran a respectable 27 miles last week, by snowy hills and slushy lanes, along sunny riverbanks and past glittering waterfalls - all at a comfortable pace with lots of time to stand and stare. After all, running is supposed to be enjoyable. The other day I came across a wonderful quote by Lucy Smith. She said:
'To be a lifelong athlete you have to, at some point, get over the need to win every race and learn to accept that the journey is the goal'.
I'm beginning to understand the logic of that as I grow older.

Linton Church and sunny riverbank - Saturday's run

Inevitably, since the introduction of a deep fat frier (or chip machine, as I prefer to call it) and breadmaker to my list of kitchen utensils, my weight has risen by nearly 4 lbs to 143.6. Even as I type, my breadmaker is switched on and churning out another delectable wholemeal loaf. I can hardly wait to cut off its warm crust and smother it with butter and honey. At this time of year I'm not worried about being a few pounds heavier. My old bones need a little extra lagging. I feel stronger for it. And so long as my body fat percentage stays within normal limits (it's currently 17.3) I reckon there's nothing to worry about. I'm not fanatical about being as lean as possible to be able to run faster. I'm not training for the Olympics - though I wish I was.

This coming week, chip machine, breadmaker and weather permitting, I'll drop the mileage and concentrate on a couple of quality speed sessions with a view to easing back into racing in the not too distant future. Bring it on.

January gales

2012-01-22T22:26:00.000+01:00

In days gone by - out in any conditions

Due to lashing rain, gale force winds and hardly any proper daylight in the the Pennines, where I live at a height of 650ft, mileage got somewhat reduced this last week. Gone are the days when I'd sally forth in all weathers, bagging Munros, stomping coast to coast across Scotland, camping in snow or front-pointing up near vertical ice in a blizzard on the Ben. It's not just advancing years that's made me soft, mainly I blame it on our local Council for installing gas fired central heating in my exposed north facing home. In wintertime the contrast in temperature on the inside and outside of my front door has to be experienced to be believed. Being on top of a hill my gable end takes the full brunt of westerly gales that do their darndest to lift the roof, roar down the chimney space and sap my energy by keeping me awake for nights on end. That's why I haven't run very much this week.

Angry sky over Castle Hill on Sunday

Actually, I got out three times for a total of 18 miles and though lacking in quantity I tried to introduce a wee bit of quality, by way of a change! I even wore my Garmin 205 so I could load data onto my computer to find out just what I'd been up to. The results were both surprising and pleasing. I ran the same six mile route on each of three days, Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.

On the lee side of Castle Hill there is a smooth sandy path that measures around 193m between two wooden posts. On Tuesday I ran 10 intervals between the posts @ an average of 47.4secs, on Thursday 10 @ 47.2secs, and on Sunday 10 @ 45.3secs. Jogging home I always open up between two 'Watch your Speed' signs c.402m apart. On Tuesday my time between the two was 1.42, on Thursday 1.40 and on Sunday 1.32. If my maths are correct (and they usually aren't) my speed sections amounting to 1.42 miles per day tumbled from 6mins 37secs per mile pace on Tueday to 6mins 14secs on Sunday. I'm happy with that, even if it's wrong!

For 'Diane' - R.I.P

There was a spray of white flowers on Castle Hill in a sheltered recess among the gorse bushes overlooking Hall Bower and the vast sprawl of Huddersfield Town. Being of a curious nature, I Googled our local rag, the 'Examiner', and learnt there'd been a fatal accident on the road below. Two cars driving through sleet and snow had been involved in a nasty head on collision that resulted in the death of one woman, named only as Diane, and severe facial injuries to the lady driver of the other car. Rest in Peace Diane, and a speedy recovery to the other unfortunate lady.

There are more cheerful flowers. Purple crocuses, trembling white snowdrops and mauve-coloured pom-pom primulas are brightening up odd corners of my garden. Best of all, every time I walk into my kitchen my nostrils are assailed by the intense fragrance of three purple hyacinths that totally over-ride other wonderful smells of freshly baked bread, Italian coffee and herby casseroles. At the moment, between runs, my kitchen is certainly a very nice place to be, and a jolly sight warmer than the weather outside. Maybe I should install a treadmill there!

Frost

2012-01-16T18:02:00.000+01:00

Track to the hamlet of Yarnbury

For some days now the temperature hasn't risen above freezing in the Dales. Skies have been blue and cloudless with hardly a breath of wind. Days have been sandwiched between spectacular morning sunrises and gorgeous sunsets. Up on the moor bankings are festooned with icicles, the ground iron hard and pock-marked with frozen puddles. On lower ground, in icy fields and frost-bound gardens, bushes and shrubs are stooped under grey rime, like hoary old men. But not this old man!

Earth was hard as iron.....

Thankfully, energy levels have risen slightly since my last posting, partly I suspect on account of all the delicious culinary delights my wonderful partner and I have been treated to by kind friends who must have thought our winter bodies looked a bit under nourished! In fact, I'd been thinking along similar lines too, so much so that after a mounting urge for some proper chips, as opposed to those horrid oven thingies, I purchased a deep fat frier to give my old body some occasional treats. Next on the list could well be a bread-making machine to further boost the carbohydrate intake. I've yet to find a decent unsliced loaf of bread in Sainsbury's, where I do most of my shopping, so rarely eat more than one slice a day of the essential 'staff of life'. This deficit is about to be remedied.

......water like a stone

Over the past week I've run another 21 miles, split into four runs, at a slightly faster speed and without the ignominy of having to walk the last hill back into the village. Most enjoyable was a relaxed run on Saturday afternoon with my wonderful partner who was sussing out an eleven mile route along which she's scheduled to take a party of Skipton & District U3A walkers this Thursday. We only ran a seven mile section of it to re-acquaint ourselves with the lie of the land in the remoter parts and to note any possible hazards.

Frosty landscape near Bare House

The weather was crisp and clear with hardly a breeze as we set off from Yarnbury to run by the long wall and up onto Grassington Moor where only an occasional startled grouse exploding from the heather broke the ice-bound silence with it's 'Go-bak' cries. The only unpleasant bit occurred when once again my left foot was caught in one of our local gamekeeper's numerous fox snares, almost bringing me to earth. Fortunately, it was in an area around a stink pit where I expected snares to be, so was deliberately treading carefully. We hope none of the ageing U3A members will be so unlucky on their forthcoming walk.

We arrived back in Yarnbury as the sun was setting behind distant hills, colouring the evening sky with raging fire on the horizon and deepening pastel pinks extending overhead. A perfect end to a perfect day.

For the record

2012-01-09T18:04:00.000+01:00

One of the results of high winds in Hebden last week

For some reason, since Christmas, I've not been firing on all cylinders. I've been a bit wobbly and lacking in energy which is most unlike this aspiring octagonarian. Apart from going a bit overboard with the Champagne and bubbly stuff on Christmas day there's been no more over-indulgence either food-wise or drink-wise. My weight has not risen above it's usual 140 lbs and my resting pulse remains at a constant 42bpm - so nothing wrong there. I'm hoping this is a temporary blip and not the onset of 'old age and decrepitude syndrome'! However, although I struggled a bit in high winds and rain, and twice had to walk up a hill I normally take in my running stride, I managed to churn out another twenty miles this past week. So, the old legs are still turning over even though the engine is currently feeling a bit clapped out! On a good note, my morale was somewhat boosted this week by some news on a subject I referred to in an earlier Blog.

In November last year, while surfing running related material on the internet, I happened to log into the 'Yomp' website where details of the Full Yomp (23 miles, 4000 ft height gain) are described thus:

'Starts at Kirkby Stephen Grammar School and heads South out of town and past Wharton Hall, continuing over Wild Boar Fell and on to Swarth Fell before swinging off the tops down to Aisgill Moor. Climbing back from the valley via Hell Gill onto Mallerstang Edge the route passes over High Seat and High Pike and drops down to the Swaledale road near the top of Tailbridge Hill. The final stage is the ascent to the Nine Standards, and then down to Kirkby Stephen'.

It's over fifteen years since I ran this wonderful scenic route, way back in 1996 when I was 64 years old. I recall it being a glorious day with reasonably dry underfoot conditions and I was pushed all the way by my sometimes training partner and arch-rival, John Ely, who is thirteen years younger than me. I remember slowing a little as I refuelled on the ascent of Hell Gill, only to go into panic mode at the realisation John was little more than 25 yards behind me. He had a clever knack of keeping a very low profile behind clumps of heather, little protruding rocks, or hiding behind other runners as he surreptitiously crept up on people. Fortunately, the adrenalin kicked in and I pulled away along Mallerstang Edge, over Nine Standards Rigg and down into Kirkby Stephen to finish six minutes ahead of him. As fastest runner O/60 that day I was presented with the 'Nine Standards Veteran's Cup' and told, unofficially, that my time of 3hours 42minutes could well be an O/60's course record.

Being of a certain vintage, I'd totally forgotten about this little matter of a course record until recently coming across the 'Results' section on the Yomp website where Mr R.Moulding of Blackburn Harriers was officially listed as O/60's record holder with his time of 3.45 set in 1995. Needless to say, an email went hurtling through cyber space at a great rate of knots informing the Yomp organisers that a certain member of Longwood Harriers (i.e. yours truly) had in fact run 3 minutes faster than their Mr R.Moulding. I'm pleased to report that five days ago, on January 4th, an email from John Andrew of the Yomp Committee informed me that after fifteen years my record has finally been ratified and now appears on the list of all time records. Yippee!!! For reasons of posterity, and before someone re-writes this record again, I thought I'd have a copy of it on my Blog page. So here it is:

I've always regarded this as a 'soft' record and am amazed it's stood for fifteen years when there are so many good O/60 runners around. I'd expected it to be broken long ago which, I suppose, is why I hadn't paid much attention to it, until now. The O/60's record for the Three Peaks of Yorkshire, a slightly longer race with more ascent and descent, is 3.38.33 set by Bill Fielding - 12 minutes faster my quickest 'Peaks' time. So come on, all you O/60 fell runners, the next Yomp is on June 3rd. Be inspired. Get out there and give it a go. After all, records are there to be broken.

Happy New Year

2012-01-03T19:59:00.000+01:00

The Wharfe in spate

The weather is still up to its old tricks. For the past couple of weeks, at least, Britain has been a drab and dreary place. And still we have dire warnings of gale force winds, torrential rain, hail, sleet and snow continuing well into the New Year. Trees and overhead power lines have been brought down, disrupting public transport, while many homes are without electricity. Water is pouring off the hills, fields are saturated, the River Wharfe is a whirling brown maelstrom. While travelling on the Ilkley bus we'd to hurriedly lift our feet when water came rushing inside as we negotiated a flooded section of road near Linton.

A final run of the old year had me slithering all over the place during a five mile effort through quagmire fields to Grassington Bridge and back. The effort required, just to stay upright, was so exhausting that for the first time ever I'd to walk the final hill back into the village. Glad I'm not running in the Yorkshire X-Country Championships this coming Saturday!

Running out the old year

New Year's Eve celebrations were somewhat subdued. A running friend who'd invited us to share 'nibbles' and drinks was struck down with a stomach bug a few hours before the chimes so, after our traditional Hogmanay supper of haggis, tatties and neeps - not to mention a wee dram - we quietly saw in the New Year alone. How different from days gone by when we'd stream out of Gerry's hostel at Achnashellach and into the warmth of Katie Ann's cottage for untold hours of music, song and jollity at a good old Scottish ceilidh. Later, we'd finish up dancing in the road, everywhere sparkling with frost, stripping the willow in a starlit ballroom. Those were the days. I think!

The first day of the New Year, being a Sunday, coincided with the annual Covenant Service at our Methodist Chapel, for which I was on duty both as steward and reader. It began at 9am, so it was just as well I hadn't been dancing the night away. A part of the sermon that caught my attention concerned the three wise men traversing countless miles across trackless desert, without the aid of maps or satnav, to the town of Bethlehem. "In those dim distant days travellers had to navigate by the stars" our Minister said. On my way out I suggested if we'd had to rely on stars this Christmas we wouldn't have got very far out of the village!

The Wharfe at Linton Falls

After the sloshing through fields fiasco of yesteryear I resolved to henceforth keep to roads and tracks until such time as the landscape has dried out. So, sensing a short weather window after Chapel, I set off on what should have been a pleasant six mile jog to Appletreewick, then back along the mainly gravelly path by the swollen River Wharfe. All was going well until, just before the suspension bridge, I was greeted by a loose dog which, by way of saying Hello, ripped a hole in my best Gore running tights at the top of my thigh. Had it's teeth struck a few inches to the right, things could have been far worse! He was a beautiful looking dog. Shame he had such an irresponsible owner. Perhaps by way of consolation, she assured me she'd have harsh words with her very naughty doggy. I departed quickly, counting up to ten, before letting out a loud stress relieving Aaaarrrggh!

So, a bit of a curate's egg really, some good bits, some bad, which I suppose is what the rest of the year will be like. A Very Happy New Year to all my Blogger friends and visitors.

Christmas frolics

2011-12-28T16:23:00.000+01:00

Carol singing round the village

Christmas comes but once a year, and thank goodness for that a lot of us might say. Any more of them and we'd be positively obese! Things started to hot up in Hebden on the evening of the 23rd when a group of us braved the bleak mid-winter to traditionally sing carols round the village, thus proclaiming to anyone who didn't already know that Christmas had officially begun. Time for some ding dong merrily on high! Our scattered congregation were all very appreciative and a grand total of £118 was raised for Manorlands, a well deserving hospice in the West Yorkshire village of Oxenhope. The evening was rounded off with an alfresco gathering around a brazier where the stars shone brightly as we quaffed mulled wine and stuffed our faces with some rather more-ish mince pies.

It rained most of Christmas Eve but a brief weather window around 2pm had me reaching for my studs and nipping out the door for a seasonal run up the ghyll and over into Mossdale. It was bordering on dark when I got back two hours later, but I'd packed a head torch in my bumbag - just in case. Later, it rained harder than ever, rattling the west facing windows and seeping under the back door. Outside, the wind chimes jangled madly, like some grand crescendo to a Messiaenic masterpiece, almost drowning the Church bells calling the faithful to midnight mass.

Choccies and malt whisky

It rained throughout Christmas day too, but we didn't care. We didn't have to go out and besides, we'd a few other interesting things to do. I'll unashamedly admit that, apart from one cup of tea at breakfast time the rest of my fluid intake for the day consisted entirely of alcohol. It began before lunch when a charming elderly neighbour invited us into her cottage for champagne and 'nibbles' around her brightly decorated tree. It's essential to have a man around on these occasions because her fingers are not strong enough to uncork the champagne. I'm more than happy to oblige!

Then it was back home to delve under the tree and pluck out our own presents while consuming yet more lunchtime nibbles and another bottle of choice bubbly. Our many presents from many friends required many digital pictures to email to said friends displaying our ecstatic faces and exceeding pleasure at receiving such thoughtful gifts. Among mine were three bottles of single malt whisky! Also, an exceedingly expensive Paramo mountain shirt from my wonderful partner which suggests to me we might be spending less time running in 2012 and more time wandering the hills together at a more sedate pace. Curiously, I 'd been thinking along roughly similar lines when I gave her a lightweight Salomon rucksack, a lightweight waterproof jacket and lightweight headtorch. But what I had in mind was RUNNING the hills as opposed to other touristy means of getting to the top!

That bright new jacket

A bottle of excellent Chardonnay, suitably chilled, accompanied the traditional Christmas dinner, preceded by a mouthwatering salmon and prawn starter and concluded with some rather rich Christmas pudding with brandy sauce. I barely remember washing up, or at what time we crawled up to bed, but I do remember waking in the wee small hours feeling exceedingly dehydrated and in need of some fluid other than alcohol.

Boxing day was dull and cloudy but mercifully the rain had stopped. We ran up the ghyll together before parting company at Cupola Corner to go our different ways, my wonderful partner heading towards Yarnbury to return home by a shorter route, me continuing on an eight mile circuit of Grassington Moor and Bycliffe Hill to burn off more calories. My choice was a huge mistake. At 1,500ft the umpteen miles per hour gale was raging like a mad thing, all very well when bowling me along from behind, but sheer hell when I turned to face it on the way home. I progressed in fits and starts and a few short jogs over Bycliffe, but it was impossible to run with my eyes streaming water and the wind tearing my breath away.

Stone man - a cairn high on Grassington Moor

It was the same for the next mile, along the Mossdale track and past the Stone Man (cairn) until I'd dropped a couple of hundred feet to the long wall below Howgill Nick where it was only slightly less exposed. I stood for a couple of minutes beside the wall, totally knackered, getting my breath back and waiting for some strength to seep back into my old legs for the long run down. Then, as I set off running again, an amazing thing happened. A raven cronked overhead, riding the wind majestically, perhaps showing me how clever he was at handling the maelstrom. That raven stayed with me like some guardian angel for the next three miles, almost until I was back in the village. It joined me at almost exactly the same place on a previous occasion but left me after a mile or so. On Boxing Day it stayed with me until I'd run over all the rougher, stonier parts of the ghyll, crossed the swollen beck on submerged stepping stones and all the way down to the final ½ mile of smooth tarmac where it gave a final 'cronk' and sailed away.
I seem to recall reading somewhere (was it Gavin Maxwell?) there's something unlucky about ravens, but I've always regarded them as friendly birds and give them a cheery wave when I come across them up on the moor. They're particularly delightful in display mode, flying together at speed and flipping over onto their backs as they flash through the air like avian answers to the Red Arrows. No, I can't believe a bird that gives so much pleasure can be a harbinger of evil. Quite the reverse, I tell myself, hurtling towards my 80th birthday, occasionally flipping over onto my back as I trip over some projection and go flashing through the air.......... Ho hum!

More snow

2011-12-18T18:06:00.000+01:00

White landscape below my house

It snowed again this week, then the sun shone and the frozen landscape glittered like diamonds under a blue benign sky. Ice crackled underfoot as I ran through familiar fields, past holly bushes bright with Christmas berries, past horses in winter blankets contentedly scrunching dry hay from their rack in a field below the Castle. Sorry I forgot the Polos!
On days like these it feels like running is the most natural thing to do, the easiest and most enjoyable form of exercise, energizing the body while filling the lungs with the purest of air. In buoyant mood inspired by the weather I churned out another twenty glorious miles this week. I dread the day when I can no longer run.

After recent ten mile jaunts, interspersed with shorter ones of three or four miles, my old legs are starting to regain some strength and I get the feeling it will soon be time to introduce a bit of speed work again. The post Christmas period, following the inevitable wining and dining indulgences, should be an ideal time to start. Father Christmas might even have brought me some foul weather training gear, in which case I'll have less reasons to procrastinate.

A quick glance at ClustrMaps today revealed my Blog had visitors from all sorts of interesting places, from Spain, Austria, Australia, Taiwan and various US States - Oklahoma, Indiana and Maryland. Some are regulars and visit every week but I haven't a clue who most of them are. I wish I knew. Anyhow, to all of you, thankyou for dropping in. I wish you a Happy, peaceful Christmas and a wonderful New Year. If you're runners, train well, enjoy your racing and celebrate lots of new PB's (or PR's if you live in the States).
PS. There's currently a huge shambling bull in the field you see in this picture who, along with his cows and heifers, snuggles under my garden wall in the wee small hours. It took me a while to work out it's this hot-blooded bovine family that are responsible for my security light constantly switching on and off - depriving me of sleep!

Getting in the mood for Christmas

2011-12-13T15:47:00.000+01:00

Christmas starts here

The first snows inevitably turned our thoughts towards the joys of Christmas, so we've been pretty busy this past week. To set the scene, and get us into the right mood, the tree was hauled out of the loft and duly adorned with sparkly glass baubles and multi-coloured lights. Windows were polished and secondary glazing installed to keep out Jack Frost, making the cottage more cosy for forthcoming celebrations. Seasonal messages were scribbled on festive cards and sent hurtling off to friends and relations all over the world. A few presents were bought and wrapped, though many more have still to be decided upon. There is still ivy to collect, to curl around the overhead creel, and holly to brighten spare corners, but we're almost there.

The desolate track into Mossdale....

In rare weather windows we also found time to run, over Castle Hill, around Burnsall and even through a snow dappled landscape into the wilds of Mossdale where, in no uncertain manner, the window slammed firmly shut. Rain and hail, driven by gale force wind, rattled the hood of my lightweight cagoule as I trundled along the track towards the huge bulk of Great Whernside which was totally hidden in thick, drifting cloud. The landscape was totally desolate, not a tree nor a sheep, not a rabbit or wild bird; only the bare rocks, tangled heather, mist, patches of snow, moss and weathered walls.

...and the muddy way out

I was glad to reach the high point at four miles and 1,540ft where I'd shortly afterwards turn for home. Unfortunately I was also turning into the path of the oncoming storm that slowed my pace considerably for the next couple of miles until reaching lower ground. Near Bare House I passed Nigel, a local dry stone waller, bald headed and hatless, repairing a fair sized gap on quite a high and exposed part of the moor. A real hard man! We flung greetings through the wind, but I didn't stop. There were three more miles to go.

It was quite a relief to drop into the more sheltered confines of Hebden Ghyll, cross the overflowing beck and run back into the village where, naturally, I put on an extra spurt for the benefit of anyone who might happen to be peeping through their window! My Garmin registered an exact ten miles. After a few stretches while the kettle boiled I flung a couple more logs on the stove, then slapped my hands round a welcome mug of tea. The animal was happy. Very happy!

Ten

2011-12-05T17:30:00.001+01:00

Raging River Wharfe

After a couple of short steady runs during the week, come Saturday I decided it was time to lay the ghost by repeating the 10 mile route on which I came to grief some eight weeks ago. Time has healed the damaged ribs, the pain has gone, I can take deep breaths again, I can even sing and do press-ups - though not all at the same time, you understand.

It was cold, windy and showery as I set off alongside a raging River Wharfe en route for the five mile turn-around point at Barden Bridge. The path was slippery and slutchy and at one point my feet went flying from under me - yet again - but luckily no harm was done. I sprang up and continued running with nothing more than a bruised ego. I was back in Hebden (just as my wonderful partner was setting out to look for me!) in two hours and two minutes. My Garmin registered 10.47 miles, so I was happy with that. After all there are 28 gates to open and shut on the path to Barden Bridge and the same to be repeated on the way back. Plus, I'd stopped to take photographs of various interesting features en route, as I do, to illustrate my Blog. I ached a little, particularly my Rt knee, but it felt wonderful to be back up to ten miles again. From henceforth it will be a matter of build, build, build all through the winter, getting strength back into the old body ready for racing again next year.

Pico Deseada, on the volcanic island of La Palma

Talking of next year we recently decided that, God willing, we'll celebrate my 80th birthday on the beautiful island of La Palma, off the north west coast of Africa, staying at the same wonderful hotel that fed and watered us so well last February. So, we were a little concerned on reading a news report yesterday which said that just across the water beside a neighbouring island, El Hierro, a volcano has been continuously erupting under the sea for over a month. According to the report, it could even form a new island, or add new territory to the south coast of El Hierro. In spite of around 11,000 tremors over the last four months most of the islanders are not too concerned, though some have suitcases standing by the door packed with emergency food, blankets, changes of clothing, battery radios and torches. The worst scenario, one supposes, is that it could eventually rise out of the water and start spewing volcanic ash all over the place. May God forbid!

First snow of winter

In total contrast, we awoke this morning to the first snows of winter, blizzarding across the landscape forcing sheep and other livestock to cower under walls for shelter while on the roads traffic was brought to a virtual standstill or, in the case of a local coach we suspected should be crossing the Pennines with a group of geologists, sliding backwards down the hill in front of us! Could make for some interesting running!

A wild weekend

2011-11-28T16:21:00.001+01:00

Burnsall and the River Wharfe

Wild, wet, windy and bitterly cold would be an apt description of last weekend's weather. The storm was building up to gale force as we drove back home from Knaresborough on Saturday afternoon, bending trees and buffeting our poor little car as we drove with dipped headlights through the misty and inhospitable hilltop village of Greenhow. It was a relief to get indoors, stoke up the stove and warm our hands around a mug of hot tea. I couldn't help thinking about an intrepid walking acquaintance of mine, Alan Sloman, who was planning to camp with friends, and a dog, high on the slopes of Ingleborough. With winds gusting to 75mph throughout Yorkshire I somehow think there may have been a change of plan so can't wait for him to update his excellent and entertaining Blog to find out what really happened!

Riverside path - a delight to run

We didn't sleep much on Saturday night, or Sunday morning, as rain rattled against our window like beads of slingshot. Come morning, the sky had cleared to a brilliant blue but there was still a vicious wind. Anxious to start building up mileage again I'd planned an eight mile route, half of which was on tarmac, as far as Howgill, and the rest along a very puddly riverbank back to Hebden. That way I wouldn't get my feet wet until turning for home! I was accompanied by my wonderful partner who hates wind at the best of times but positively loathes it when it's freezing cold and gusting to umpteen miles per hour. I can tell you, this was a run she didn't enjoy!

The New Inn at Appletreewick

There are three well known refreshment stops on this route, the Craven Arms and New Inn at Appletreewick and the Red Lion in Burnsall, which together attract hoardes of thirsty walkers at all times of year. There were no signs of life at any of them as we ran past on this wild morning, no cars or anyone sat outside at picnic tables gazing at the glorious landscape while quaffing a good old pint of Yorkshire brew. It was a good time to photograph these famous hostelries - if only I could hold the camera still enough! Even the New Inn appeared to be keeling over in the wind!

Pat Proudfoot's memorial

Turning towards home we ran past Pat Proudfoot's memorial, an 18 year old member of Bradford sub-aqua club who saw in the year 1960 underwater in the River Wharfe but sadly died 5 months later. In the twenty or so years I've regularly passed this way her plaque has always been marked with flowers. The path through Howgill Wood required care as it was thick with fallen leaves that hid jutting rocks and raised tree roots. A shooting party was bagging pheasants across the river - or trying to. In today's wind I reckoned there might be a fair bit of deflection that would work in favour of the flushed birds.

Hebden suspension bridge

The cold blast stung our faces and blew us about as it funnelled straight towards us down the swollen river. In an elemental sort of way I was enjoying the experience of battling against it, though wishing I'd brought along a thermal hat and gloves. Next time! Hebden's rickety old suspension bridge was swaying a bit as we dashed across before climbing the final hill back into the village to complete a hard won but stimulating run. I was happy to be back up to eight miles though my wonderful partner, being of slender frame and therefore buffetted around a fair bit more than me in the draughty conditions, finished quite exhausted. Hopefully the weather will be a little more clement when I go for the ten.

Brightening up my day

2011-11-23T18:41:00.001+01:00

Went for another good run today, a five mile frolic through Mollicar and Royd House woods, through fields of sprouting winter wheat, with a sharp climb over Castle Hill to round things off.

A pheasant came to say 'Hello'

It was late afternoon when I set off and I'd half hoped the local badgers might be rooting about, or performing their ablutions away from their sett, but no such luck. The countryside was strangely deserted except for a large covey of partridge that flew off into the dusk. It was almost dark when I got home.

The reason for my late departure this afternoon was this colouful visitor strutting around in my garden just as I was ready to set off. I was so fascinated that I really didn't like to disturb him, even though he was at one time feeding on some of my Spring bulbs. I've no doubt he'll be back for more!

Autumn runs

2011-11-22T13:49:00.001+01:00

Woodland colours en route to Castle Hill

After six frustrating weeks the old ribs are slowly healing so that over the past few days I've managed to clock up some enjoyable miles with seemingly no ill effects. On Wednesday I set off on my Castle hill route - yet again - in some unusually warm November weather that made running a sheer joy. As I've mentioned before, towards the end of this route there are a couple of 'Watch your Speed' traffic signs which, up till now, have always been 0.27 mile apart, according to my Garmin 305. However, for reasons best known to itself. it has decided to chop off 0.02 mile and reduce the distance to 0.25, a straight ¼ mile. This is all very well but it means that when I run this distance in the usual 1 minute 36 seconds my pace has dropped from 5.58 to 6.18 - which does nothing for my morale. This infernal gadget is slowing me down. Next time I'll run without it!

River Wharfe on the way to Burnsall and Appletreewick

Saturday's run was a delightful six miles along the riverbank to Appletreewick, and back. It was another clear day with extensive views and sharp imagery. Only problem was, I forgot to take my camera so was kicking myself every time a likely shot materialized - like the incredible reflections on the still waters of the river, or the dozen or so canoeists paddling downstream, or the lone goosander sunning itself in a calm backwater. The miles passed easily, running at a steady pace while marvelling at all the magic of another glorious day.

Sunday. After a convivial evening of wining and dining that extended long into the night it was a somewhat sluggish old Runningfox that set off for Church on Sunday morning. Things speeded up a bit when I realised I'd forgotten my collection money and had to jog back for it, only reaching my pew on the last clang of the bell. But it was worth it as my somewhat depleted batteries were recharged at the communion rail - though I'm not sure it did my knees any good!

Grassington Bridge

Our minister, Rev David Macha, is a keen runner who completed this year's Great North Run in a respectable 1 hour 38 minutes. Next year he plans to run two of my favourite races, the Burnsall 10 mile road race and the Upper Wharfedale off-road ½ marathon, both of which are tough courses with many hundreds of feet of ascent. If I run these two races I'll be competing as an MV80 which is off the end of the scale as far as prizes are concerned. I'll have to think about that.

In the afternoon as mist descended into the valley my wonderful partner and I set off through the fields for a five mile circuit to Grassington Bridge, then back along the riverbank where a few faster spurts made this into a fartlek session. It brought my mileage to 14 for the week, the most I've run since my unfortunate accident. It will be ages before I'm back up to speed again. But I'm working on it.

Running back from Grassington Bridge along the misty riverbank

Whilst surfing the net the other day I happened to click on the Mallerstang Yomp website. The 'Yomp' takes place annually over a 23 mile route (with 4,000ft height gain) over Wild Boar Fell, Swarth Fell, Mallerstang Edge and Nine Standards Rigg before dropping down to the Start/Finish point at Kirkby Stephen Grammar School. I ran this race way back in 1996 and, quite by accident I'd imagine, set a new MV60 course record of 3 hours 42 minutes. Understandably I've been quite proud of this record over the years, so imagine my feelings on discovering that the official website lists a certain R.Moulding of Blackburn as the current MV60 record holder with his time of 3 hours 45 minutes - i.e. three whole minutes slower than my time. Needless to say an email to the organisers, with an attachment of the 1996 results, went hurtling through cyberspace at a great rate of knots with an urgent request to rectify this mistake PDQ. As yet, my record hasn't been restored but an email from David Prince, treasurer to the organising committee, indicates they're looking into the matter and will be in touch with me soon. But how soon is soon? Watch this space!

Cross training

2011-11-14T16:23:00.001+01:00

Attermire Scars

It's more than five weeks since I hit the deck with an almighty thud and heard that ominous crack in my Rt upper rib cage. It's much less painful now though it still hurts when I sneeze or break into loud guffaws! The swelling on my Lt elbow has disappeared completely, so I'm almost ready to start serious training again. Hope springs eternal or, as old Isaiah put it,
"Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint". I like that!

After four days of thick mist, drizzle and semi-darkness, the sun finally broke through last Saturday to lift our flagging spirits and spur us into action. We'd chosen to do a brisk walk up Penyghent, a 2.273ft hill which, along with its two higher cousins of Whernside and Ingleborough, forms a well known Yorkshire triptych attempted annually by thousands of intrepid walkers and keen fell runners.

Woolly beasties by the Attermires

Driving past the Attermires the landscape was bathed in golden light. Wraiths of mist rose like phantoms from a forest of pines. Looking back, as D.H.Lawrence put it 'through the wrong end of the long telescope of time', woolly mammoths, bears, reindeer, ox and rhinocerus roamed this area and sought shelter in the various caves, mainly Victoria cave, where many of their bones were later found. Today's woolly creatures were of a much tamer variety, rain-washed sheep on the high pastures and shaggy highland cattle that lumbered along the moorland road.

My first 'real' medal

At such an early hour the old market town of Settle had barely woken up as we passed through, it's square devoid of bikers and Ye Olde Naked Man's door firmly shut. We drove by the Ribble with it's salmon ladders and waterfall leaps, to the village of Horton in Ribblesdale with it's squat Church looking across to the quarry scarred landscape. The Church features on a most prized medal that marks the first of my three MV60 category wins in the annual Three Peaks race, perhaps the proudest moment of my racing career. By comparison my two London medals pale to insignificance.

Penyghent comes into view - briefly

We parked the car, donned our rucksacks, then strode past Brackenbottom and up steep pastures towards the craggy nose of Penyghent. At the Pennine Way intersection we were enveloped in swirling cloud, so thick that other walkers only metres away became nothing but voices. From here on a little care was needed as clammy moisture made the rocks precariously slippy, though in many places conservation workers have fashioned a functional flight of stone stairs to aid ascent, or descent.

Up the slippery bit

In little over an hour we reached the shrouded summit where a kind gentleman took a picture of us both at the Trig point. This is noteworthy insomuch as it's probably only the fourth or fifth time we've been photographed together during the whole of our twenty odd year relationship! It was too cold and windy to hang about at the summit so we descended rapidly for 3 or 400 feet until we popped out below cloud base.

Together at the Trig point

From here on we strolled at a more leisurely pace enjoying the wild situation, miles from civilisation, with only the calls of grouse or bleating of sheep to break the silence. Black crows stood sentinel on bleak fence posts scanning the moor. Back in Horton we spurned the delectable delicacies of the Penyghent Cafe for a more frugal snack of malt loaf and cheese - meanwhile discovering our new thermos flask had a serious leak!

Crows

Our six mile circuit had taken 2¾ hours to complete. I find it hard to believe that 16 years ago, in the annual Three Peaks race, I completed the whole 24 mile circuit, with its 4,500ft of ascent, in just 65 minutes more!

As light relief from running I suppose our walk could loosely be termed 'cross training', which we quite enjoyed, though a little on the slow side and hardly comparable to 'the real thing'.

Hitting the trail again

2011-11-06T17:47:00.000+01:00

This morning's view from my window

As I awoke this morning and gazed across the fields, another beautiful day was dawning, so I couldn't resist an early breakfast before donning my trail shoes and getting out there to do what my body is designed to do - RUN. A faint blue haze still lingered in the valley from all the bonfires and firecrackers of Saturday's Guy Fawkes night, but overhead the sky was almost cloudless. An autumn nip in the air made conditions ideal for running.

Since cracking my rib(s) the farthest I've run over the last four weeks is half a dozen 120m repetitions across a cricket field (left of top picture) to assess just how much pain levels would be affected during exercise. I found it was OK so long as I wasn't expanding my chest too much (as if I could!) by panting too heavily or breathing too deeply.

So off I went, somewhat nervously, for a slightly longer run over a route I often write about in this Blog, the three mile circuit of our local landmark, Castle Hill. I reasoned that if my breathing did become laboured enough to cause distress, I could always walk a little till I was back into my comfort zone. I was trialling a pair of New Balance MT101's that fit like gloves, superbly snug and comfortable.

The view towards Emley Moor television mast

Surprisingly I didn't seem to have lost any of my speed as I began the gradual ascent through a field of newly calved cows, past trees displaying their autumn dream coats, out onto the rough track along Clough Hall Lane, then up the final steep slope to the table-top summit. I was not alone up there. The sunshine had brought out car loads of Sunday morning strollers - most of them with dogs - and all of them with cheery 'good mornings' as I loped past.

I stopped only briefly to drink in the gorgeous panoramic views, to Holme Moss and Emley Moor with their towering media masts and across scores of miles of urban sprawl to the whizzing wind farm by the wuthering heights of Haworth, one time home of the famed Bronte sisters. My descent was a little cautious at first to limit any jarring to my chest but after the steepest bit I was back up to speed again. On a short road section I even managed a measured 0.27 mile between two 'Watch your Speed' signs in 1.36 which, according to my Garmin, equates to 5.58 pace. I was back home in 28 minutes, which is only slightly above average for this hilly route. The animal is happy again. Well, reasonably!!

Clogged up shoes

Back home I removed my new Trail shoes to find both soles were totally clogged with dirt and would probably have offered no grip at all if the need had arisen. They may be comfortable but I reckon they'll have to be reserved for dryer trails. I believe this shoe was designed for New Balance by one of my running idols, Anton Krupicka, who runs high Colorado peaks like Cameron's Cone and Green Mountain before breakfast, or so I'm told. Maybe he just has a very late breakfast! I can only assume that Colorado trails are less earthy and more rocky than here in Yorkshire. I'm not knocking the NB MT101 shoe, for I'm sure it has it's uses in more conducive conditions, but for the coming winter I'll be turning to my tried and trusted Inov-8's, mainly Roclite 315's, or maybe Mudclaws if the ground churns up really squelchy.

I couldn't resist.......

2011-11-01T17:29:00.000+01:00

Path up Castle Hill

It was such a beautiful autumn day I couldn't resist going for a gentle walk. Wearing my New Balance 101 trail shoes for the very first time, to break them in, I walked a short route I often run, a mere three miles over Castle Hill to drink in the panoramic views and feast my eyes on the wonderful autumn tints.

Trevor Ellis running high

Quite by co-incidence I met one of my running contemporaries, a chap called Trevor Ellis of Hartshead Running Club who was up there on a training run. In spite of having had a heart attack that slowed him down for a while, he's a long distance specialist and still planning marathons well into his seventies . Having just ascended several hundred feet he was glad to stop and chat for ten minutes in the warm sunshine. And so was I.

Bright Holly berries

His company and conversation was most inspiring, so much so that I left him feeling a bit of a wimp. For goodness sake, if he still had the guts to get out and run following a coronary what was I doing pratting around with much lesser problems of cracked ribs and a swollen arm?

So, on the way home I found myself turning into our local cricket field with it's wondrous green, flat turf with absolutely nothing to trip me and send me sprawling to the ground again. Dare I risk it? Yes, I jolly well would. I wasn't exactly dressed for running but I took off my jacket, placed it on a bench with my camera, then set off for half a dozen repetition runs across it's widest point, a good 120m.

Trial run

The first tentative run took 28 secs, the next 26, the next 25 and the last three were all 23's. After a short warm-down jog I put on my jacket and walked slowly home as if nothing had happened! Back indoors I grabbed a handful of nuts and raisins, poured myself a glass of orange juice and sat down with a rather broad smile on my whiskered face. The ribs had survived. Thankyou Patti for your prayers.

The colours of autumn

2011-10-30T17:28:00.000+01:00

As there's nothing running related to write about at the moment, and inspired by Bex, I've decided to release one of my poems into the great Blogosphere. It's called Morning mist:

From eiderdown dreams
Into tingling November

Burning bush

I slippered across to the window,
My morning ritual,
The unveiling of another masterpiece.
Strangely, nothing was there. Outside
The day was a blank page
Teetering on an easel of ivied wall.

I watched, waiting, and soon
The great artist working from the top
Swept his loaded brush across the emptiness
And with a wash of palest ultramarine
Created the sky.
A terrace of distant houses, eyes blazing
Crimson lakes of fire, hung

Autumn sunrise

Suspended in space
Whilst over there a barn
Trailing its charcoal shadow
Was a meteor defying gravity.

A leafless hedge pocked with berries
Snaked from its cotton-wool cave
To lasso a meadow of green mist
Where a blur of burnt sienna
I'd swear had moved was, of a sudden,
A steaming thoroughbred.
A tangled briar scrawled its signature
Of authenticity and in minutes

Morning mist

The canvas was complete, and lit
With glorious gamboge light.
A miracle.

Turning aside I concerned myself
With more mundane matters
Of toast and porridge.
Impressed? Of course, but knowing too
That in the hours to come
This bright day
Like all the other days
Would self-destruct and vanish
Irretrievably
Into lamp-black
Oblivion.

Running can seriously damage your health

2011-10-24T18:54:00.000+02:00

The least of my worries - I clouted this too!

Some folk may have noticed a distinct lack of activity on old Runningfox's Blog over the last two or three weeks, and with very good reason. It's supposed to be a Blog about running but the plain fact of the matter is that once again the old legs have ground to an untimely halt. "Oh my goodness, whatever has the old codger been up to now?" I hear you ask. Ah well, just when everything was coming good I went and blew it again. This time I've really excelled myself and may be out of action for quite some time. Towards the end of a wonderful 10 mile run by the River Wharfe I reckon something must have jumped out of the ground just in front of my right foot and brought me crashing to earth. There was an ominous crack at the top right hand side of my chest as I hit the deck. I got up and tried to carry on running, as I usually do, but there was no way. I could hardly breathe.

I took the trail to Grassington Moor. At least I can walk!

An hour later I was sat among the lame and lamenting in Airedale Hospital with a suspected broken rib - or ribs. I say 'suspected' because it's no longer hospital policy to X-ray such things being that treatment is exactly the same regardless of whether ribs are cracked, broken, bruised, or barbecued. Come to think of it, there wasn't much in the way of treatment either, unless three days supply of painkillers and a standard sheet of breathing exercises can be descibed as such! The sheet instructed me to take a few deep breaths, holding the last one for ten seconds, then give a big cough. This self-inflicted torture was to be repeated three or four times every hour. I'll confess, I didn't even do it once! There was absolutely no way I was going to cough (or laugh, or sneeze) if I could possibly avoid it. Merely clearing my throat produced excruciating pain. In fact, the pain was intolerable if I didn't do anything at all! "How long will it be before I can run again?" I asked the all too jovial coloured doctor. He gave me a minimum of six weeks, but added it could take longer for an elderly person. At the time I certainly felt I belonged in that 'elderly' category but, after a couple of weeks, my younger self is slowly making a return.

One of the residents - Red Grouse

Yesterday, while my wonderful partner was far away on National Park duty, I laced up my Inov-8's and sneaked off for a most enjoyable twelve mile walk over Grassington Moor and down into the wilds of Mossdale. In the past, people have asked, "Do you take a mobile when you're running in such remote and dangerous places?" to which I've replied "Sometimes, if I can remember". Out of curiosity I did in fact take a mobile yesterday only to discover there was no reception whatsoever in those nether regions. Not one blob! So I may as well leave it at home and just rely on the whistle that lives in my bumbag (not that I'd be able to blow the darned thing with a broken rib - even if there was anyone around to hear it).

Wild Mossdale - no phone reception here.

I'm told Mary Decker Slaney underwent surgery on about twenty occasions for running related injuries, and still came back for more. I expect to come back too, stronger, fitter and as fast as ever. Maybe this is nature's way of resting me up before nudging me gently into the MV80 category in the Spring of next year. A text I read today from 2 Corinthians 4 - 16 is rather reassuring. "Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are renewed day by day".

Watch this space. I'm not done yet!

Bill Smith

2011-10-11T17:23:00.001+02:00

Bill Smith

Last Friday was a very sad day as news leaked through that a revered fell running friend had been found dead in the Trough of Bowland after he'd been missing for three weeks. I can't remember where I first met Bill Smith though it was probably at a Three Peaks race in the mid 90's. Being a pair of old codgers, and having things in common, we always struck up a conversation that invariably included stories of our latest injuries. He'd undergone keyhole surgery to cure a problem in his left knee. On another occasion he'd turned an ankle on the Tour of Pendle but his physiotherapist, a chap named Phil McAuley, had taught him strengthening exercises and methods of taping it that had him back running in no time at all. He also spoke of 'minor health problems' which he didn't elaborate on.

. One of my first questions in those early days was always "Have you found me a copy of your book yet?" In October '97 I received a letter from him, addressed to 'Fellrunner, Hebden', telling me that Peter Knott had unexpectedly found five copies of 'Stud Marks on the Summits' and would I contact him immediately. I did and the book has become a treasured possession. Bill began writing this history of amateur fell racing in 1978 thinking it would finish up the size of a Dalesman paperback, but things got a bit out of hand. When finally published in 1985 it was quite a hefty tome with 582 pages of text, maps and photographs.

In his younger days Bill played Sunday League football and followed Everton F.C. but also did a bit of fell walking. Long distance events like the Fellsman Hike and Todmorden Boundary walk, where runners competed too, aroused his interest in fell running and it wasn't long before he became hooked on fell racing and said goodbye to football. His interest soon bordered on obsession. If he wasn't racing or training he was either researching and writing about fell racing or marshalling at far-flung events at which he'd invariably arrived by public transport - all the way from Liverpool. His encouraging words to runners at strategic points during races have lifted many a flagging spirit.

He'd little interest in other forms of racing though he'd run about ten road races including the Derwentwater '10', Windermere to Kendal '10' and the 22 mile Buttermere Round. The only road marathon he ever did was at Barnsley where he'd expected to finish in two hours thirty or two hours forty. "After about seven miles I lost interest and began daydreaming" he said. "I'm afraid I found it very boring after what I was used to and eventually finished in three hours five minutes". On one occasion when I broached the subject of road racing I was cut short in mid sentence with a curt "Gordon, I'm only interested in fell racing".

He was a true gentleman, a dedicated sportsman, a talented writer and a name that will live forever in the annals of fell racing history.

Rest in peace Bill - and thanks for all the wonderful memories.

For everything a reason

2011-10-04T18:58:00.000+02:00

Ravencragg

For the serious athlete I'm told every training session should have a specific purpose relevant to the distance, or type, of forthcoming race. After five weeks of inactivity a lot of strength had gone out of my old legs so my primary purpose over the last week has been to restore some of that strength - one way or another. So, along with my wonderful partner, I took to the hills. We based ourselves at Ravencragg, on the shores of Ullswater, in a flat kindly loaned to us by mutual friends.

Approaching Sharp Edge

On a warm day of bright sunshine we plodded up the steep path that borders Scales Fell bound for the rocky heights of Blencathra, or Saddleback as it's sometimes called, a 2,847ft peak at the northern end of the Lake District. Passing Scales Tarn a gravelly path leads to the start of an imposing ridge. From hereon to the top we enjoyed an airy scramble, sometimes on delicate holds where the route was not always obvious.This is Sharp Edge, a name to strike terror into the minds of more timid travellers but a sheer delight for enthusiastic rock athletes.

Climbing Sharp Edge

At times a gusting wind threatened to tear us from the rock, making progress a little 'interesting', but it was a warm wind, blowing from the south, that helped restore our fading summer tans. Wearing shorts and a support round my injured knee, I finished up with a two-tone leg! Ravens 'cronked' their joy as they were flung hither and thither in strong updraughts, enjoying the situation as much as us. There were no flowers to be seen, yet there were late butterflies warming their delicate bodies on reflected heat in sheltered corners of the rocks.

On the slabby knee-wrecking descent of Hall's Fell I realised just how unfit I'd become. Not many years ago I'd have danced down here in no time at all. Now I was wincing at almost every downward step - for 2,000ft. By the time I reached the bottom my legs were crying out for more pain-killers! We returned to Ravencragg, took chairs onto the lawn and enjoyed the luxury of healing sunshine on our aching limbs.

Martindale's old Church and ancient Yew trees

Rather disappointingly, the next day dawned cloudy with distant hills fading into a milky haze, but it was fine and still rather warm. We drove to Martindale, past the old Churches and parked at Dale Head for a walk up Bannerdale. It's a kind of pilgrimage we make every year in the season of 'The Rut' and we hadn't gone far before the sound of roaring came drifting down the dale from the direction of a high cone shaped hill known as The Nab, a designated deer forest. Watchers were already installed with their powerful telescopes set up for long distance viewing. We continued for another mile up the dale, climbing to a high grassy platform under Heck Crag that afforded a grandstand view over the extensive deer forest.

Looking up Bannerdale - deer country

The sun broke through, lighting up the landscape. There were deer everywhere. A herd of possibly eighty hinds grazed peacefully below us. A lone stag bellowed his territorial rights from a vantage point just below the skyline - one of very few that was actually roaring. We wondered if recent strange weather patterns had altered the time of the rut, whether it was nearing its end, or only just beginning?

On our side of the dale, in the broad confines of Heck Cove, another stag with a huge set of antlers was wallowing in a mud hole, usually the prelude to a fight. Instead he went stomping after his parcel of hinds, apparently with other ideas in mind. They were having none of it. "Go and get yourself cleaned up before you come anywhere near us" we could almost hear them saying! On this occasion we saw more deer than ever before, but fewer signs of the actual rut.

Yacht race on Ullswater

We returned to Ravencragg for a bite to eat before setting off for another relaxing walk to Auterstones and back along the track to Swarthbeck. A yacht race was in progrees on Ullswater, a mass of what looked like little paper boats, all with red sails, skimming along in a stretched out line round the spaced out buoys. A mewing cry attracted our attention to a buzzard circling above us before gliding into a nearby tree to survey his domain. By 4pm the sun had disappeared again, and so did we. Back to the comfortable confines of Ravencragg, back to our books, a beefy casserole and a fine wine to round off the day.

The following morning, following a relaxed five mile run as far as Martindale, the weather finally broke. We loaded the car and returned home.

John Le Mesurier as M's chauffeur on Grassington Moor for the filming
of Casino Royale. I don't think the sheep were supposed to be there!
Picture courtesy of t' internet

Finally, to assess the effects of the past week's strengthening programme, I went for a lone eight mile run over Grassington Moor, a route that rises 1,000ft in four miles, and I was determined to run every inch of it. The turning point is on desolate moorland where the opening scenes of Casino Royale were filmed way back in 1966. Today there was only sheep for company and a fair number of Grouse that had luckily escaped the ravages of the Glorious Twelfth.

As I turned for home a pair of vociferous ravens circled overhead and stayed with me for almost a mile, one of them hanging virtually motionless, riding the wind. The other had a curious high pitched 'cronk' which had me wondering whether it was the female of the species or whether some stray shotgun pellet had wrought havoc in it's nether regions?

The last three miles were sheer enjoyment, running easily down springy turf before reaching the stony track running parallel to the beck all the way into Hebden. Old Runningfox is back in business, I think!

Yay, I'm back!

2011-09-26T17:29:00.000+02:00

I hope the four buzzards circling the sky near Appletreewick didn't have their beady eyes on the scaled down carcas running below them along the riverbank. After weeks of massage, stretching and various recommended exercises to rejuvenate my dodgy knee and strained hamstring Old Runningfox was back in action. And boy, did it feel good.

After the recent shock of discovering how I'd piled on the pounds during three weeks of inactivity I was determined to get back to my running/racing weight. Such things as bread, potatoes, anything with sugar in it, butter and 80% of milk all went by the board until such times as the scales registered 140 lbs and I was back running again. That day was last Saturday.

Rather nervously I laced up my old trail shoes, did one or two warm-up exercises and stepped out the door for a 5 mile circuit by Grassington Bridge and back along the riverbank, past all the old chestnut trees displaying their gorgeous autumn colours. After taking it steady to the half way point I felt fresh enough to turn it into a fartlek session, pushing the short hills and launching into 50-60m acceleration runs along the flatter parts of green turf. I couldn't believe how well I was moving.

Rather predictably, in spite of having finished my run with some warm-down stretches, I was a bit stiff the following morning. Getting down the stairs was not easy! There was no pain, not in my knee or anywhere else, just that general muscular achiness that follows a good work-out, the sort you can laugh about rather than cry over.

Body-hugging Fastrax top and Bandarf

After breakfast on Sunday I could hardly wait to lace up my shoes and set off again on a slightly longer run, along the river to Appletreewick and back, a very pleasant six miles. This time I took it steady, all the way, revelling in the renewed joy of freedom, movement and rhythm. It felt absolutely effortless so I could only assume the five week lay-off must have done a power of good, enabling me to recharge the batteries and fire up the old engine again.

If all goes well the next five weeks will be spent gradually building up the miles in preparation for the Guy Fawkes 10 mile race at Ripley on November 6th. I'm looking forward to pinning a number on again and getting out there snapping at the heels of my contemporaries. Roll on, let battle (re)commence!

PS. With a cold nip in the air I donned my new Fastrax thermal top for the first time (courtesy of a voucher I won in the Arncliffe 4 mile race) and must say it kept me wonderfully snug and warm. It's tight fitting enough to almost display my six-pack - and probably would if it wasn't hiding under it's layer of fat! The buff I'm wearing in the picture is actually a Bandarf. I refuse to pay the crazy price 'Buff' charge for there minuscule bits of material. Bandarfs are just as versatile, fit more snugly, cost around ¼ the price, but don't, as yet, come in the same range of colours. There are many different ways of wearing them. I never go anywhere without one.

Resting uneasily

2011-09-17T14:18:00.001+02:00

Little did I know when I stepped out the door and took my first tentative steps at the tender age of 54 that running could become so addictive, nor how frustrating it can be when injury strikes and I'm unable to get my four times weekly fix. To paraphrase a quote on radio today, running in the great outdoors is my drug, my gym and my Church, so it's perfectly understandable why I'm currently experiencing withdrawal symptoms.

My drug, my gym and my Church

Although the pulled hamstring seems to have resolved itself my Rt knee still aches slightly and isn't quite ready to start pounding the trails again just yet. Walking is no problem as proved on the island of Arran where we stravaiged many, many miles and scaled thousands of feet of rock, bog and heathery slopes. It's when I sit in the same position, for example when driving with my foot on the gas pedal, that it aches most. Various straight leg exercises, stepping forward down a small step then back up again, anti-inflammatories and massage with 'Green lipped mussel extract and Glucosamine' gel appear to be having the desired effect. Hopefully by next week I'll be pulling on the old trail shoes again and starting to build up the miles.

In the meantime, to maintain motivation, I'm dipping into a vast collection of running related books and watching the likes of Usain Bolt or Yohan Blake streaking across my television screen at speeds of around 44mph. This afternoon Mo Farah will be scorching around the streets of Newcastle in a two mile race while later in the day local Yorkshire lads Alistair Brownlee (World Champion Triathlete) and Andy Hodge (World Champion and Olympic Gold medallist in the coxless fours rowing team) will be gracing our TV screens. Tomorrow, I'll be glued to the set yet again, trying to spot one or two acquaintances competing in this years Great North Run, a ½ marathon of world-wide renown. This year it's predicted 54,000 runners will take part. If that lot doesn't inspire me to get out the door next week, then nothing will! Who says running isn't addictive?

Five days on Arran

2011-09-12T19:10:00.000+02:00

High on Beinn Tarsuinn - feeling good
to be back among mountains

Being a mere 19 miles long by 10 miles wide the Island of Arran is often described as Scotland in miniature and that's a very apt description. It's an island with something for everyone, for walkers, mountaineers, runners, golfers, pony trekkers, geologists, archaeologists, for shoppers and beach bums, for visitors to breweries and distilleries, for swimmers, wildlife enthusiasts, landscape artists, photographers, fishermen, for browsing around ancient castles, listening to the skirl of Pipe bands, watching traditional Highland Games, meditating with Buddhists, exploring dark caves - and a host of other things. And all this set among the most breathtaking scenery with accommodation in some of the prettiest villages you'll ever see. It was my first visit to Arran but I'm sure it wont be my last. I was VERY impressed.

Part of the wild life

Not that the weather was conducive to seeing much of it whilst we were there. Storm force winds estimated at 48mph, and gusting to nearly 70mph, roared through the glen driving torrential rain for hour after hour after hour. Our tent, a Hilleberg Kaitum, rattled and clacked and danced about like a mad thing. The noise was such we'd great difficulty hearing each other speak. But it held firm. Not a peg came loose or one drop of water penetrated through to the inner sactum. Elsewhere, tents were flattened and a campervan awning was blown away never to be seen again.

Path up Goatfell

We were more than a little concerned after reading a notice stating 'This campsite floods after heavy rain' - and it didn't come much heavier than this. The river, only feet away, rose alarmingly as water poured from the surrounding hills till we imagined a tsunami type wave sweeping us away in the twinkling of an eye. Mercifully, it never came. Eventually, blotches of blue appeared in the sky, the sun peeped through and a rainbow spanned the glen. We pulled on our boots and set off to gain the high tops in the cool freshness of a rain-washed landscape.

18ft Standing Stone on Machrie Moor

Heather was at its purple best as we clambered by white water streams, noisy waterfalls and up high angled boiler plate slabs to the summits of Beinn a' Chliabhainn (675m) and Beinn Tarsuinn (826m). Since becoming a runner, 25 years ago, I've missed the mountain environment. It felt good to be back, getting to grips with rock again and be surrounded by serrated towering giants in this wonderful wild landscape.

I was reminded of a time on Ben Nevis when Hamish Brown, just returned from Ireland, was so happy to be back in familiar surroundings he was jumping up and down with excitement while proclaiming "I don't wanna go down". I know what he meant! We climbed Goatfell too (874m) by an amazingly well constructed stony path that must have taken years to complete.

Lochranza Castle

On another dreich day the sacred landscape of Machrie Moor transported us back 4,500 years as we explored it's stone circles, cairned burial chamber and giant standing stones. By contrast, the ruined Lochranza Castle only dated back to a comparatively recent 13th century.

The pretty village of Corrie

Further imminent storms strafing across the Atlantic in the path of Hurricane Katia forced an early departure from the island, but our appetites were well and truly whetted, enough to ensure a return visit in the not too distand future - but hopefully in more clement weather.

Going wild

2011-09-01T20:22:00.000+02:00

It may be some time before my next Blog posting. On Sunday, after welcoming our new Methodist Minister, Rev Janet Clasper, to her very first Communion service in our Chapel, we're taking off to the Island of Arran for a week of camping and mountaineering. I'm not sure how my dodgy Rt knee or tight hamstring will react to this but I'm hoping another week's rest will help ease them back into running mode. With lots of stretching, and a few strengthening exercises, they're definitely improving so I'm keeping my fingers crossed they'll be ready for the exceedingly hilly Guy Fawkes 10 mile race on November 6th.

David & Rev Janet Clasper

Another penalty of not exercising, but still eating the same amount of food, is we put on weight. That has certainly happened to me, to the tune of nearly 3lbs in the last couple of weeks. My body composition monitor tells me I'm up from 142 to 144.8 lbs. It also tells me I've got 16.8% body fat, my BMI has risen to 22.7 and my visceral fat is up 1% to 8%. My resting pulse has also risen from 42 to 48bpm. It's amazing how an old body can deteriorate in such a short space of time but hopefully I'll be getting back on track after raising the tempo somewhat on the rocky heights of Arran.
A text I read this morning assures me "all things work together for good to them that love God" (Romans 8.28). I'm pinning my hopes on that! Here's Kari Jobe with a few other people who love God:

Hebden Sports

2011-08-30T19:10:00.000+02:00

View from under 14's turnaround point

Being injured and unable to run throughout the whole of August Bank Holiday was very frustrating, but I was still able to get involved and watch others participating in our noble sport throughout the weekend. Three of us spent Saturday afternoon flagging and taping the various Hebden Fell race routes for the brave people who'd be giving it their all on Bank Holiday Monday as part of our local Sports day programme. Races vary in length to accommodate under 9's, under 12's, under 14's, under 17's and seniors.

Under 17 boy making it look so easy

Tiny tots simply run twice around a sloping field adjacent to the main arena. We couldn't flag it on Saturday because it was full of sheep and nobody, including the farmer who rents the field, had any idea who they might belong to! On Sunday I put on my shepherds hat and herded them into another field where they were eventually fastened in for the duration of the sports. All went well on the day as the miniature fell runners trundled round with much verbal support both from proud parents and our animated race commentator, Ian Douglas.

Under 17 girl

Much as I'd like to have done, I've never run the Senior fell race. Most of it I could cope with, the short 300ft ascent, a rocky scramble to the white stone at the top of the crag, the bumpy path through tall bracken and swift descent back into the ghyll. What I can't manage at my time of life are the three high walls with deep drops to a downhill slope on the landing side. My old bones aren't as solid as they used to be whilst my balance and co-ordination leave much to be desired.

Tom Adams of Ilkley leads the senior
race up the crag

This year I was marshalling at various vantage points where I could watch some amazingly keen youngsters, talented under 17's and experienced seniors making it all look rather easy as they flowed gracefully over each obstacle of the uneven terrain. There are times when I regret not having started running until the tender age of 54. I seem to have missed out on an awful lot!

One more false start young lady
and you're out!

Meanwhile, back in the Sports field, there were flat and novelty races for all age groups. Those who regard running as too much like hard work could try their hand at Bat the Rat, Knock down Ginger, Field Quoits, Putting Contest, Football game, Train Game, Treasure Hunt or Tombola. With children in mind there was a Bouncy Castle that got rather crowded, a Bran tub and ever popular Face Painting. Long queues snaked out from the barbeque tent, tea and cake stall and ice cream van as folk sought to replace lost energy. After a Fancy Dress parade at 7pm the day's proceedings ended with the traditional singing of Rimington (aka 'Jesus shall Reign'). Well, it should have but no-one seemed to know the words!

Not my day x 3

2011-08-23T17:54:00.000+02:00

Burnsall and the River Wharfe - before the rain

After a steady week's training (a delightful five miles cross-country, a good interval session on the track and six miles gently trundling along the River Wharfe) affairs took a steep downward turn at the weekend. My old body is getting a bit out of control.

On Saturday we went along to Burnsall Feast Sports to spectate, socialize and take a few photographs of friends and acquaintances competing in the 10 mile road race, the Classic Burnsall Fell race, not to mention the hilarious Mummers doing their stuff on the village green.

My old mate, Bill Wade. 1st MV70
in the 10 mile race - 1:21:32

So what could possibly go wrong when I wasn't even competing? Well, for starters a curbstone had craftily twisted itself 45º so that it's upward edge formed a nice point that crunched into the nick of my posterior when I tripped and crashed down on it. To complicate matters, a little bit, my Rt knee hit the ground with an almighty crack - the same knee I twisted in a rabbit hole 12 days before.

Fortunately, this happened towards the end of the day, ages after Alan Buckley had stormed home in the 10 mile road race in a fairly creditable 55.26, long after the keen as mustard kids had swarmed to the base of Burnsall fell and come hurtling back like miniature maniacs (all of whom ensure us that fell racing has a very healthy future) and just before local lad Ted Mason came scorching home in the rain to score his first ever win in the Classic Fell race. I limped back to the car to be driven home for more Voltarol, more Paracetamol, more Arnica.

On Sunday with the old adage in mind that attack is the best form of defence, I dragged my protesting body onto Grassington Moor, supposedly to get some good shots of the heather at it's wonderful purple best. Guess what? The sun went in. I wandered around for ages waiting for breaks in the cloud but eventually gave up and set off home. Back down in the ghyll the sun sneaked out again - "Yoo-hoo!" - so I retraced my steps, only to find the battery in my camera had given up the ghost. Definitely not my day - again!

Leaders at the start of the Classic Fell race

Monday dawned clear, sunny, warm and very inviting. The umpteen grams of pain-killer, lashings of Arnica and yet more anti-inflammatories appeared to have done their job so nothing wrong with a gentle jog down the riverbank, I thought. After ½ mile I parted company with my wonderful partner, on the premise she might be going a bit too far, or a bit too fast, and struck off in the opposite direction towards the stepping stones by Linton Church. Feeling rather fresh after a couple of miles I reckoned it might not be a bad idea to do a few wind sprints, maybe ten times 75m at a fairly fast lick with a walk recovery. I was enjoying them so much I somehow lost count. On the final one, which turned out to be number fifteen, and which I'd decided to do 'really' fast, there was a sharp pain at the back of my Rt thigh. You've guessed it. My perishing hamstring had thrown a wobbly and yelled 'Stop'. According to my Garmin that last intense burst measured 3.36 min/mile pace on the Richter scale which I was rather proud of! But I limped home a bit disconsolate, back to the pain-killers, the anti-inflammatories, the bag of frozen peas, the Arnica - and a tearful partner who can't bear to see me injured or hurt. You'd think she'd be used to it after twenty years!

Local lad makes good. Ted Mason of Appletreewick
storms home alone for his first ever win in this Classic Fell race

However, all these annoying little setbacks of mine were well and truly put into perspective when we learned of the drama that unfolded after we'd left Burnsall on Saturday. We'd watched in total admiration, not to mention a furtive tear, as a 62 year old totally blind man crossed the finish line with a broad smile, along with his 'guide', to complete the 10 mile road race in 1:34:28. A magnificent achievement. The applause was tremendous. Imagine my surprise when this very same person ran past me, with that self-same smile on his face, to begin his ascent of Burnsall Fell in the Classic race. I couldn't possibly comprehend how a totally blind person could negotiate thick heather, hidden boulders and high walls in the slippery conditions of the deteriorating weather. Two days later we heard the sad news that he hadn't in fact made it. It was rumoured he'd suffered a massive heart attack on the way up and died almost instantly. His name was Mike Ogle a member of Chorley Harriers and his 'guide' was Jackie Redmayne who is understandably devastated by his death. Both of them had looked so happy setting off up the fell.

I'd like to think he died with that same big smile, doing what he enjoyed doing most, running the wild and lonely places, a free spirit who refused to give in to failed faculties but got out there and still endeavoured to live life to the full. Rest in Peace Mike. You were a credit to humankind and an inspiration to us all.

The rocky road to Arncliffe

2011-08-16T17:59:00.018+02:00

Recovered - to take MV75 prize

Last week was not the best of weeks, a most unsatisfactory preparation for a forthcoming race, but it finished on a high. For starters, my Monday morning training session was painfully interrupted by a severe bout of tummy trouble that had me dashing for cover along the riverbank in order to 'go'.

Things got worse in the afternoon during a walk from Conistone to the site of an old Iron Age settlement above the aptly named Bull Scar. I say 'aptly named' because a huge bull and his assorted multi-coloured harem came trundling up the path behind us towards the stone circles. (How is it whenever I see a bull words like Rump, Ribeye, Sirloin, T-bone and Porterhouse spring to mind?). Thankfully, he was not aggressive. I didn't feel like running.

Funnily enough (!) about half an hour later I was actually rendered incapable of running. While looking for a huge cairn 18m across by 1½m tall that had mysteriously melted into the landscape my foot jammed in a rabbit hole throwing me sideways and twisting my Rt knee. It proved a very painful limp down the steep hillside back to the car.

Middlesmoor and Lofthouse Silver band doing their stuff

On the way home we came across an elderly gentleman crouched by the side of the narrow road trying to remove a cagoule that had got tangled around the rear wheel of his electrically operated mobility buggy and brought him to a halt. It was jammed solid and I'd to tear the offending garment to pieces to get it off. I wondered why he was not responding to any of my questions and comments. It turned out he was virtually stone deaf, not to mention almost blind! He was a braver man than me to drive his contraption along a winding Dales road hardly wide enough for two cars to pass each other.

LV65 winner

Back home the offending knee was smothered with Arnica and 75mgs of Voltarol was swallowed day and night for the next four days. By Thursday I was hardly aware of any pain so decided to try a short run. After a mile warm-up I launched into ten very fast wind sprints on the local cricket field, then jogged home. Everything felt OK, so it was all systems go for the Arncliffe 4 mile race on Saturday.

The morning dawned wet and cloudy, as it had done for days, (or maybe weeks!) so we worried about the state of the field used for parking cars at this event. Our fears were unfounded and we'd no problems getting in or out. Crowds were a little sparse for this years event which, besides the road race, sports a fell race, welly whanging, strong man competition, bric-a-brac stalls, stirring music by the Middlesmoor Silver Band and a colourful commentary from the irrepressible Dales character, Roger Ingham.

Sadly, there was a much smaller turnout than usual for this smashing little race. Although mildy undulating it's quite a fast course as it follows the road by the River Skirfare for a couple of miles to Hawkswick, then crosses the bridge before returning up the other side of the river and back into Arncliffe.

Ted Mason - winning the Fell race by a distance.

With only 66 entries there was hardly any congestion at the start so we were all away pretty fast behind some decent club runners. A bit too fast in my case. I was struggling a bit along the flooded road mid-race but managed to rally again in the last mile to finish 44th in 32.25 - 24 seconds faster than last year but a long way short of my MV75 course record of 29.30 set in 2007. It was quick enough to take the MV70 prize and the added bonus of a kiss from the delightful lady presenting the vouchers! I was invited to return next year to set a new MV80 course record. God willing, I'll be there to give it a try.

My wonderful partner was 1st lady over 65 but missed out on a category prize which were a bit thin on the ground this year due, we suspect, to the very low entry and consequent limited budget.

Surprisingly, we were still capable of running on Sunday, a gentle seven mile trot to wallow in the heathery delights of Grassington Moor. A week that had begun in pain for me ended in joy and feelings of satisfaction for both of us. And long may it be so!

Full results here:

My running week

2011-08-09T18:45:00.031+02:00

Castle Hill

Last week began with one of my regular five mile circuits run at a fairly sedate pace around Farnley Hey and Castle Hill, through waving woods and fields where harvesters were at work threshing the ripe, golden corn. With goodness knows how many hundreds of feet of ascent along this Pennine route, some of it steeper than 1 in 4, I've little option than to run at a sedate pace, though I always finish up feeling a little disgusted with myself, thinking a man of my experience really should do better! Tuesday's effort took all of 55 minutes.

The following day I made up my mind to run it faster and to assist in my quest decided to enlist the help of my Garmin 'Virtual Partner', a facility I've never yet used. After setting my watch for 53½ minutes I pressed 'Start' but no Virtual Partner appeared to set the pace for me. Possibly he realised how arduous it was going to be and refused to run it with me! Oh well, I'd set off, the countdown had begun, so I wasn't going to stop and fiddle around to see where he/she had got to. (I really must give my Virtual Partner a name, like Freddie, or Paula, someone I can chivvy when they're getting behind). I plodded round, retracing my steps of the previous day, and finished in a time of 53.13 - 17 seconds inside my target. I was happy with that.

Miner's bridge over Hebden beck

Thursday was declared a day of rest, mainly because it was chucking it down and I don't mind admitting at my time of life I'm very much a fair weather runner. But on Friday, for the very first time this year, I reckoned it was time for a bit of Track work. Whatever brought that on you may ask? Well, I'll tell you what brought that on. While studying the results and statistics from the previous week's Park Run it came to my notice that two people have deigned to get ahead of me in the overall Age-Graded League table. Being of a competitive nature I decided to do something about it and make the top of that League Table my very next goal. That should keep me motivated!

Based on my 5K time of 24.36 my optimal speed for 400m intervals is 1.46 - according to the McMillan Calculator - so, after a mile warm-up I ran 8 x 400m with 200m jog recovery. In a mile warm-down I incorporated half a dozen wind sprints to reintroduce my old legs to more intense speedwork. The whole session took 54 minutes, a good workout which, if I can repeat it a few more times, should produce a PB at my next Park Run. Well, that's the plan!

Heathery heights

It chucked it down again on Saturday which gave me another nice excuse for a rest. After Church on Sunday I went for a ten mile run into the wilds of Mossdale. You might call it my other Church for many of these solitary runs trigger a rich spiritual experience. I ran past cushions of trembling harebells in Hebden Ghyll, over the old Miner's bridge and up to the heathery heights of Grassington Moor, scattering the day-feeding rabbits that fled to safety in nearby rocks. A late curlew called a plaintive goodbye as he sailed across the purple landscape, no doubt bound for coastal feeding grounds where he'll spend the winter. Most of his friends left ages ago.

A solitary walker enquired the way to Middlesmoor. I directed him as best I could but couldn't help thinking he shouldn't be wandering in such a remote area unless he carried the relevant map, and a compass, and knew how to use them. In which case, he wouldn't need to be asking me!

Leaving Mossdale I slowed a little over Kelber pasture so as not to spook a great herd of cows that became a little agitated when their calves started carreering about at my approach.

Mimulus in Hebden beck

Two equestrian ladies rode past, one of whom was quite well proportioned compared to the size of her horse, a scene that invoked an involuntary chuckle as a Thelwell drawing sprung to mind.

Sheep at High Garnshaw scuttled away noisily as I bumbled past. It's so long since I passed that way they must have forgotten who I am. Hopefully, they'll get used to me again and hardly turn their heads.

My legs still felt strong as I trundled back down the ghyll, racing the chattering beck bright with yellow mimulus, down to the bridge, and home. All in all, it was a pretty good week with another 25 solid miles into the old legs.

Huddersfield Park Run

2011-08-01T15:37:00.018+02:00

Some of last Saturday's fun runners

Park Runs apparently began in Teddington way back in 2004, the brainchild of Paul Sinton-Hewitt, and have since spread throughout the British Isles. Only recently did I learn they'd actually been taking place in my home town of Huddersfield at 9am each Saturday morning for the last 17 weeks. Curiosity lured me along to sample the 18th event last Saturday, July 30th.

Park runs are not strictly races, but more for fun, fitness and friendly rivalry. Whole families can get involved to test their prowess over an accurately measured 5K route. They are free to enter but each participant must be pre-registered and be in possession of a barcode that must be brought along to each race and is vital for recording results. No numbers are worn and the whole race can be set up in five minutes flat - the length of time it takes to align the cones for the finishing funnel.

All smiles approaching the Finish funnel

It was an ethnic mix of 126 runners that lined up in glorious sunshine for the 18th running. Some wore fancy dress. Ages ranged from under 14 to the 79 years of yours truly. After a few brief instructions from a guy dressed as Robin Hood we set off around the beautiful Park on a three lap course.

This was only the second 5K race I've run in 25 years and I haven't quite got the hang of them yet. Basically, I settled into what I considered to be a maintainable race pace, then just hung on to the guy in front for as long as possible, hoping he'd pull me round to a half respectable time. I think he did. My 24.36 in 39th position actually gave me 1st place in the overall age-graded results. I was happy with that though I'm sure there's room for improvement.

My wonderful partner finished 87th overall in 29.27 and 1st lady in the age-graded results. Surprisingly, after our very first run, both of us now rank top of our age categories for the whole series - so I reckon we've set ourselves up to be shot down!
Full results here:

Harrogate 10K road race

2011-07-26T17:16:00.016+02:00

There wasn't a cloud in the sky as we set off to run the Harrogate 10K road race on Sunday. The lightest of breezes was struggling to turn the lofty turbines as we passed the wind farm near Kettlesing. We parked by Valley Gardens, resplendent with summer flowers, where runners were already beginning to warm up though the race was still more than an hour away.

We walked to the Start/Finish area to view the list of runners and assess the opposition. Was the speedy Ian Barnes entered - the MV75 Darlington Harrier who beat me at Kilburn? No. Was Barbara Robins there, the LV65 Bridlington Harrier who beat my wonderful partner at Kilburn? Yes, drat! However, we discovered it didn't really matter for either of us when we read the Prize list pinned to the notice board. Although both the Entry Form and Harrogate Harrier's website said there were prizes in ALL VETERAN CATEGORIES this was simply not the case. We were a little annoyed to find there was neither an MV75 or LV65 category. Another lady was complaining there was no LV55 category - not that she'd any chance of winning it, she said, but chance would be a fine thing! The race director apologized when I had a word with him and intimated an MV80 category might be introduced next year! Perhaps they might also print a true list of prize categories on their entry forms.

Old Runningfox - storming home

However, we were there, it was an absolutely beautiful day, so we might as well make the most of it. As we jogged to the Start a gentleman from the Harrogate Advertiser insisted on taking our photograph for publication in his paper. We can't imagine why.

With over 500 runners crammed into a narrow street things were a bit congested so I stationed myself just behind the 40 minute marker to get a reasonably good start. I'm not sure why because the first two miles are predominantly uphill so I couldn't run very fast anyway, but at least I could get into my race pace sooner.

Whether it was the heat or my lack of fitness, I was struggling so much on those first two miles I was wondering however I'd repeat them on the second lap? Thankfully, on turning into Cornwall Road I was able to recover on the gentle downhill back into the Town centre where there was a welcome drinks station. I knew without looking at my watch that I was slowing down the second time around but, strangely enough, I was beginning to pass some very weary looking runners a few of whom were taking walk breaks. I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I turned down Cornwall Road for the last time, knowing it was downhill, with the exception of the last 80 yards, all the way to the Finish.

How is it, in the last couple of hundred yards of a race, I seem to change from a clapped out old Morris Minor to a sleek supercharged Porsche? As I lengthened my stride to ease past the flying Emma Prentis of Edinburgh University the race commentator shouted my name, announcing me as the oldest man in the race, and invoking loud applause as I stormed over the line in 51.47 - 298th of 541 finishers. On a demanding course, and on a hot day, my wonderful partner was quite happy with her 62.32 in 484th position overall.
Unofficially (because there isn't a category) I 'think' I hold the MV75 course record at Haroogate - 48.04 set in 2009 - but I'm sure the incredible Harold Dobson, who took the MV70 prize in 48.19 on Sunday, will have something to say about that when he moves into the MV75 category this September.
Most unusually, we didn't stay around for the prize giving. Although it would have felt great to lie on the grass in that wonderful atmosphere we made our way home to soak up the sun and re-hydrate in our own garden.

The Harrogate 10K is a wonderful race, excellently organised and well marshalled, one we shall undoubtedly run again when, hopefully, they'll have the courage to abide by what they proclaim in their advertising material - prizes in ALL veteran categories.

Full results here:

A very special day...

2011-07-19T21:17:00.011+02:00

Together after the Langdale ½ marathon, 2010

Last weekend marked a very special anniversary. In July 1991 I received a note from a casual acquaintance, a friend of a friend, asking if I'd like to accompany her to the Lake District and help devise a route she was planning to do with her mountaineering club a few weeks later. The plan was to camp in Eskdale for a couple of nights, reconnoitre the route on our first day to ascertain whether it was feasible, then do our own thing on the second day. "I'll bring all the food and cooking gear" she assured me, "just bring your sleeping bag".

As she opened the boot of her car to unload our gear at a campsite in the wilds of Eskdale a curious look of concern spread over her face.

Wild camp in the Western Isles, 2009

"Where's your tent?" she asked.

"Er...I didn't bring one, you told me to just bring a sleeping bag" I reminded her. The rest, as they say, is history.

Last Sunday we awoke together after twenty glorious and unforgettable years. Curiously, we've never been back to that spot in Eskdale though we've since camped in wilder and equally beautiful places; by otter-haunted shorelines on remote Hebridean islands, by laughing rivers and sparkling waterfalls in deserted glens, beneath the Eiger and other Alpine giants where, amongst other things, we've run the Eiger Trail and climbed the Schwartzhorn during our annual jaunts to Grindelwald and Kandersteg.

Climbing on the Schwartzhorn, 2008

We've raced together on British roads and Spanish promenades, through Swiss forests and manicured vineyards in the World Masters Mountain Running Championship, waded rivers and run the high hills of energy-sapping fell races and tough off-road Trails in the Cumbrian hills.

We've talked and run with 'Island Parish' celebrities in the Scillies. We celebrated my 70th birthday at a wild camp in Glen Shiel while walking and running some rough miles to complete the last 23 of 284 Munros (Scottish mountains over 3,000ft) when many of the high tops were swathed in snow and ice. Many of our exploits and victories have been chronicled in the local press. We even appeared, albeit briefly, in 'Calendar Girls'' a popular film that swept the nation.

After The World Masters Mountain Running
Championships, Switzerland, 2006

We've run the hills and shorelines of Crete, Grand Canaria, Fuerteventura, Lanzarote and La Palma.

On annual Great Outdoor Challenges we've backpacked our way through some of Scotland's most spectacular scenery from Strathcarron and Lochailort in the west to a seemingly faraway Montrose on the eastern seaboard.

Remarkably, in all those years there has never been a raised voice, argument or cross word between us. We've learned to accept each other just as we are, warts and all.

Here's to the next 20 years - La Palma, 2011

I didn't hear very much of the sermon in Church last Sunday, in fact I couldn't concentrate much on anything at all. "What page are we supposed to be on?" I'd to ask the person behind me. My mind was too busy reminiscing about those twenty action-packed years and privately thanking God for all the manifold blessings bestowed upon us since that fateful day, July 17th 1991, after we'd eventually come to terms with having just the one tent. Judging by our amazing experiences since then, I reckon God has either long ago forgiven my frivolous misdemeanour or, what is more likely, He jolly well arranged it!.

Kilburn Feast 7 mile race

2011-07-13T15:55:00.032+02:00

Bee orchid

It's been a relaxing weekend of walks by the Wharfe, bee and butterfly orchids, strawberries and cream, raspberry meringues, roast pork and crackling, wines from France and Portugal, bimbling through Burnsall.....and a scenic seven mile race thrown in for good measure.

It felt good to be back racing again after three months on the sidelines with a dodgy calf muscle. Our recent two weeks holiday in the slightly warmer climate of Cornwall apparently worked wonders, though I must admit to feeling a little anxious, wondering how the affected muscle would react to the stress of racing. I needn't have worried. All went well.

It was raining heavily as we arrived in Kilburn. The main street was deserted, stalls were covered and the Start/Finish line across the road was in danger of being washed away. We sat in the car hoping it would abate. Shortly before the race gaps appeared in the clouds, the sun broke through, the road steamed and runners arrived in their hundreds. After a short warm-up we lined up for the 2 o'clock start.

At the Start/Finish line on a deserted wet street

My usual tactics are to set off towards the front of the pack so as not to lose time at the start, then settle into my race pace as the pack thins out before winding things up towards the finish. At Kilburn I started farther back and ran a slower than usual first mile to monitor my recovering calf muscle.
The route is quite hilly (though the race organiser calls it 'undulating') so my mile splits were rather erratic: 7.52, 8.22, 8.14, 9.12, 8.57, 9.16, 8.08 and 55 secs for the last 351yds. Guess where the hills were.

I finished in 61.01, about ¾ minute faster than last year, and in 171st place of 308 finishers. After the race we all congregated at the Village Hall for our free sandwiches, cake and tea as we waited for the race adjudicators to compile the results.

Runners passing the White Horse

Unfortunately, in the MV75 category I was beaten by the same person who beat me last year, the speedy Ian Barnes of Darlington Harriers who also ran a faster time than last year. The good news is, when I run this race next year I'll be competing as an MV80, a category above Ian, so will have two or three years respite before he catches up again.

In the LV65 category my wonderful partner's 74.56 was only good enough for second place against the excellent 71.07 of Barbara Robins running for Bridlington Road Runners. However, there was consolation for both of us as all finishers over 65 years of age were awarded a free bottle of wine to either celebrate or drown our sorrows, as the case may be.

There was a humorous end to these proceedings when, by some oversight, my name failed to appear on the list of twenty nine eligable recipients.

Courting couple

"Hey" I shouted as he was about to wrap things up, "I'm 79 so surely qualify for a bottle".

"Blimey, at your age it's not wine you want mate, it's Sanatogen" he quipped and winked as an excellent bottle of Portugese red was slipped into my hand! According to Stuart Pailor, the race organiser, all their wines are recommended by Jane McQuity of The Times. None of your 3 for £10 rubbish!

I can highly recommend Kilburn, famous for it's 150 year old White Horse and Mouseman associations, to all who live within travelling distance. The race is run in conjunction with the Village Feast incorporating a hog roast, crockery smashing, children's face painting, a hole in one game, various stalls, a clown and stirring music from a Thirsk band. There is also a quality gift shop and tempting cafe at the Mouseman Centre.

Interestingly, according to the race instruction leaflet, car parking depends on the silage harvest!
Full results here:

We're back.....

2011-07-03T20:12:00.039+02:00

The seven mile route that decided I was fit to race again.

...after our annual camping holiday at Higher Moor in beautiful Cornwall where the weather once again did us proud. I'm privileged to have a partner who not only shares my passion for running but actively encourages it. This year she ran on all fourteen days and managed to clock up more miles than my own 63! Mind you, I was nursing a persistent calf injury at the start of our holiday but, after a lot of Stick and stimulating massage, it came good again during our second week. So good, in fact, that I allowed myself to be talked into running the Kilburn 7 mile race on July 10th which will be our first race since Arkendale back in April. Prior to giving consent I'd to satisfy myself I could actually get the distance so, armed with my Garmin, I set off running and didn't stop until the infernal instrument had registered more than seven miles. In spite of undulations amounting to nearly a thousand feet of ascent I felt reasonably good so our Entry Forms were duly posted. I can't wait to race again.

Can't see the grass for flowers

We share other passions too, mostly connected with the great outdoors. Strangely enough we sometimes walk (!) usually ladened with camera and binoculars to observe and photograph flowers, butterflies, birds and other creatures of the wild. One of our missions this year was to go seal hunting to a little island off Kelsey Head where we'd seen odd ones on previous visits. We chose a time when the tide was ebbing and revealing rocky skerries that appeared to rise out of the sea. We watched, fascinated, as the seals homed in and eased themselves onto these rocks soon to be left high and dry in the sun's heat as the tide receded. On one occasion we counted nineteen, some of them huge bull seals that voiced their disapproval to any others trying to share the same rock.

Friendly lizard

We found fields, bordered with wild roses, where you could hardly see the grass for masses of blood-red poppies, white and red campion, blue scabious and others I couldn't put a name to - but I've no doubt my wonderful partner could. Red and white lily pads floated on the fisherman's pond whilst round the edges purple loosestrife, fragrant water mint and giant Chilean Gunnera grew in rich profusion. Wild thyme and yellow bedstraw cushioned the edges of turfy paths we ran on each morning whilst a myriad butterflies danced on the scented breeze. We almost trod on a green lizard sunning itself unconcernedly on the path though resident adders were keeping a low profile.

Ready for the morning run

We also share a passion for such delicacies as local Cornish steak pasties piping hot from the Treago Farm shop, for Rodda's Cornish cream on freshly baked scones with strawberry jam, for tasty barbequed chickens served with mixed herb salads straight from the garden of John and Sue Dennett at Higher Moor where we camp. For an extra special treat before returning home we trot along to the Cosy Nook tea garden and restaurant in Crantock, usually for a mouthwatering steak, but on this occasion we opted for grilled lamb cutlets with a viscious nut chocolate sundae to round things off. This establishment is unlicenced but welcoming staff encourage diners to bring their own tipple. Glasses are provided and there is no corkage charge.

So that's what we did for a whole two weeks - ran in the morning, stuffed ourselves silly to replace all the calories we'd burned, imbibed just sufficient wine to help things on their way and repeated this each day till it was time to come home. If this is what's called a catch 22 situation, bring it on!

How it all began....

2011-06-18T13:49:00.015+02:00

Like thousands of others I started running to lose weight and restore my neglected body to some sort of fitness. Manual work had kept me reasonably fit, together with frequent excursions into the hills at weekends, walking, rock climbing and mountaineering. When Maggie's axe fell in the early 80's I found myself with no work and no money to pursue my al fresco hobbies. My marriage broke up too, though not acrimoniously. We agreed to differ and go our different ways. It was the end of an era but, little did I know, it was to be the start of another.

It was on April 9th, 1986 when I took my first tentative steps into the wonderful world of 'jogging', completing an off-road circuit round the fields which I estimated as one mile. On the 2nd and 3rd days I ran two miles and on the 4th day I ran three. Shortly afterwards I joined a 'jogging' class at Huddersfield Sports Centre led by a chap called Alan Taylor, a very good marathon runner. Under Alan's guidance and supervision I was transformed from a jogger into a 'runner'. It was Alan who persuaded me to run my first race, a 2½ mile fell section (with 800ft ascent) as part of a four man relay team. We came away with 24 cans of beer! In September of the same year I was talked into running two 10K's and two ½ marathons thus achieving my first ever PB's - 42.34 and 92.56. I ran eight races before the end of 1986.
The following year I continued to improve my PB's with a 41.59 10K, 63.36 for 10 miles and 85.33 for the half marathon.

Pennine marathon trophy, the first thing I ever won.

I reckoned it was time to have a crack at the big one, and the 'big' one' so far as Huddersfield was concerned, was the Pennine Marathon held each year on the first Sunday in July. It wasn't a popular race. It had too many hills amounting to around 2,000ft of ascent - all very well for those of us who happened to be mountaineers!

374 runners lined up for the start on what turned out to be the hottest day of the year. After only 15 months of running I wasn't sufficiently experienced to have a race plan. Nor had I done much training. In the twelve weeks prior to the race I'd only averaged 23 miles per week and two of those weeks were spent on a coast to coast walk across the Highlands of Scotland! I didn't even have a watch to record my splits. Time wasn't a factor. My sole intention was to survive and, by some miracle, I did.

I crossed the 'Finish' line in 3.30.04, in 82nd position of 316 finishers. 58 runners failed to finish due to cramp, blisters, dehydration and heat exhaustion. I was one of the lucky ones but totally knackered and quite surprised I could still walk! "Let's get home so I can have a good soak in the bath" I said to my sister, but she wanted to stay to watch the prize-giving. I collapsoed on the grass, wallowing in the luxury of warm sunshine on my aching muscles.

Then something happened that changed the course of my life. My name was called out and as I struggled to my feet people were clapping, I was being photographed, almost in tears as they presented me with a silver cup and £25 gift voucher for winning the MV55 category. I was dumbstruck, just couldn't believe what was happening to me. I'd never won anything in my life before and here I was stood on a platform receiving the adulations of the crowd for coming first of my age in a MARATHON of all things.

I struggled to hide my emotions as my sister drove me home. When she dropped me off I went in the house, locked the door and cried like a baby, thanking God for what I considered could only have been a miracle.

That was 24 years ago but I remember it as though it was yesterday and still shed the odd tear of joy when I look at the trophy and remember the crowd praising my performance. It was a humbling experience. I've never been the same person since!

Motivation, perspiration.....

2011-06-14T19:33:00.024+02:00

Last week I'd a bit of a clear out. My wardrobes, cupboards and drawers have got so full I'm hanging things over the backs of chairs, dumping them in corners or up the sides of the stairs. More cupboards would solve the problem but neither Oxfam nor British Heart Foundation have yet come up with anything suitable. So I've been busy rooting out clothes and clobber that are surplus to requirements and putting them quietly to sleep.

Among items disposed of were between twenty and thirty race T-shirts many of which had hardly been worn. Most ot them were too big. In days gone by I guess race organisers were of the opinion that most of the entries would be from fun-running rugby players. Nowadays there is usually a box to tick on the entry form to indicate what size you require.

I've kept a few of the more meaningful ones. I don't normally train in T-shirts, preferring sleeveless vests with RUNNINGFOX emblazoned across the back, my internet name I try to live up to. However, today was an exception. From the remaining few I chose a shirt I'd been given at the 2005 Horbury 10K - where I'd also managed to wheedle a prize out of them even though there wasn't officially an MV70 category. They were agreed my 43.39 at 73 years old deserved it! This shirt is one of my favourites, (a) because it fits and (b) because of all the motivational words imprinted upon it. I needed all of them today.

That shirt.....

With my Rt calf muscle still playing up I shouldn't really have run, but it was such a nice day I couldn't resist. The benign sky was almost cloudless, the temperature a cosy 70ºF and the gentlest of breezes barely moved the leaves on the trees. Skylarks were singing above the fields below Castle Hill. From the gorse bushes yellow hammers were singing for lunch - 'A little bit of bread and no cheeeeeese'. Tortoiseshell butterflies settled on stone walls and dried mud wallowing in the reflected heat. The stream through Mollicar wood had diminished to the merest trickle. Bluebells have long since faded away, but under the old oaks and beech trees was a wonderful sense of quietness and calm, like in a Church.

Beyond the wood the path is exceedingly steep, at least 1 in 4 for around 300m. At the very top is a seat where an elderly couple sat, soaking up the sun and watching my progress. Drat! I hate to be seen struggling so tried to keep a steady rhythm until it levelled off and passed behing some screening trees where I could ease off. I was knackered! Not to mention soaked in sweat.

A little farther along I passed a grey hair and bearded gentleman wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, running shoes and headband. If he was a runner he must have stopped for some reason when he saw me. I glanced back later, but he was only walking, slowly.

The light breeze became more of a wind as I ran over Castle Hill, strong enough for a traction kiter to be scurrying along at an enjoyable pace. I decided against my usual fast finish. Five miles of hilly X-country was quite enough for my gammy old leg today. Ah, if only this weather would last throughout the summer. Then I could really knacker myself up!

Never look a gift horse in the mouth......

2011-06-11T23:22:00.023+02:00

I'm not sure what to do about this confounded calf muscle that continues to ache and tighten every time I run. It's really cramping my style and making me run awkwardly. I tried three times to get in touch with Ian Sinicki, my capable Physio, to eventually learn he's on holiday in Thailand where, I've no doubt, he'll be learning new skills to add to his extensive list of treatments. I feel like a guinea pig in waiting.

In the meantime, to prevent the grass growing under my feet, I puffed and panted my way up Castle Hill today, keeping to paths where I'd be least likely to meet people. On good days I'll float effortlessly past neighbour's houses, wave jauntily at the same old dog walkers, local farmers and kite flyers, revelling in my fitness.

On bad days I'll purposely avoid everyone, sneaking out of the house when people have gone off in their cars and I think all is quiet. Instead of shorts I'll wear tracksters and take a bumbag containing a jacket which I can slip on to rapidly change into a walker rather than be seen as a hobbling runner. At the tender age of 79 I find it most embarrassing to be seen running like an old man! If I'm not fit I don't even want to talk about running.

....oh, and there was this letter.......(click to enlarge)

Maybe the sub editor of our esteemed local newspaper, the Huddersfield Examiner, caught me in a bad mood when he rang one evening to tell me that I'd been nominated for their annual 'Sports Personality of the Year' award and was invited, along with two friends, to be a guest at the presentation dinner being held at the Galpharm Stadium (home of Huddersfield Town F.C. and Huddersfield Giants Rugby League Club) on the evening of June 6th. I told him I'd think about it. I suppose what I really meant was, if I can get back to running normally in the next few days then the answer will be 'Yes'. Failing that I wont be worth knowing and my reply will be a very definite 'NO'.

Well guess what. In spite of visits to the doctor and my trusted Physio the problem to my Rt calf muscle persisted. My wonderful partner said I was 'running funny'. I was grumpy, morose and far from happy. There was no way I could remotely regard myself as 'Sports Personality of the Year' in my current state. If my old body was currently not fit enough to have this honour bestowed upon it, then I would not accept it. I emailed the powers that be, declining the offer, saying there must be other sporting personalities in Huddersfield far more deserving than me. Predictably, they didn't reply!
PS. I subsequently found out the eventual winner of Huddersfield's 'Sports Personality of the Year' award was Robert Read, a snooker player. I wasn't aware snooker was a sport, more of a pastime, something to do in between runs!

Another 21 miles.......

2011-06-08T17:33:00.010+02:00

Another week has gone by and the Old Runningfox is still some way from racing fitness. I've missed two scheduled races so far and it looks very much like I'll miss a third - the Lanhydrock 10 mile race at Bodmin on June 26th. It's a wonderful undulating off-road course that really suits my style of running. Last year at the tender age of 78 I pulled out all the stops to strike Gold in the MV65 category! 10 miles is not beyond my capabilities now, but there's no way I'm going to race when I'm only firing on three cylinders. I might get beat!

A gradely do!
Janet & Arthur Stockdale's Golden Wedding Anniversary dinner

On another four runs over the past seven days I churned out another 21 miles in runs of 5, 3, 6 and 7 miles. I'm still struggling to maintain any sort of speed, but I'm working on it. Between two 'Watch your speed' road signs towards the end of a regular run I can't resist accelerating to 6 minute mile pace for 96 secs over what the Garmin says is 0.27 of a mile. (Being a mainly off-road runner I like to get the boring road bits out of the way as quickly as possible!). If I can maintain that sort of speed for another twelve months then the British MV80 400m record that currently stands at 93.26 should be within my grasp.

The seven mile run on Monday was to work off all the excess calories from a magnificent dinner at the 'Rendezvous' in Skipton to mark the Golden Wedding Anniversary of Janet and Arthur Stockdale, two of our village stalwarts. It was a real privilege and honour to be invited to celebrate with them. We look forward to their 60th!

Orchid on Cubert Common

From June 19th we'll be in Cornwall for two weeks of sun, sea, sand, swimming and RUNNING. We've been returning annually since 2003 to the same quiet campsite run by John and Sue Dennett at Higher Moor where we're always referred to as 'the runners'. Each morning around 9 o'clock we set off on a scenic six mile circuit by Crantock beach and round the coast path to Holywell Bay before returning by an orchid strewn path across Cubert Common. On occasions we run in the late afternoon too, or swim, to sharpen our appetites for the barbequed treats, herb salads and choice vintages that constitute our evening meal. Life doesn't get much better.

Out again today.......

2011-06-01T20:23:00.027+02:00

With no pain-killers or anti-inflammatories to calm my troublesome calf muscle over the last two days I was a bit apprehensive about going for a run today. With regard to my galloping guts ache I saw my own doctor yesterday, not the sweet young lady who rummaged around in my nether regions before - and he reckons I may be suffering from an irritable bowel following an infection. That could account for the intense pain and need to 'go' whenever I break into a trot. He handed me a prescription for a hundred 60mg capsules of Alverine Citrate and gave a reassuring nod as I left, as if to say "That'll do the trick!"

Gorse in flower on the way up Castle Hill. Yellow hammers love it.

It was 2 o'clock when I eventually forced myself out of the house for a three mile trial run to test things out. Today's weather was beautiful, warmer than I'd anticipated in the south westerly wind, so I'd to remove my thermal after the first mile. As a result of very little running over the past few weeks I was feeling the strain up the steep sides of Castle Hill to the half way point, but I rallied and managed a faster ¼ mile burst at a downhill section on the way home. Sweat was pouring out as I stretched, trying to push the wall down, and gave my leg muscles a fair amount of Stick before knocking back 500ml of Zero Sports drink to restore my fluid levels.

I'm happy to say that, apart from a lot more huffing and puffing than usual, the old body coped very well indeed. I returned home with no aches or pains whatsoever. The animal is happy!

I'll run if it kills me.......

2011-05-31T22:05:00.022+02:00

I climbed onto the scales a week ago and didn't like what I saw. From a reasonable 140.8 lbs I'd soared to 145.2 lbs. The clever monitoring device further told me my body fat percentage had risen from 14.9 to 16.8 and my visceral fat from 7 to 8%. And all because I've hardly run at all over the past few weeks. A couple of visits to my regular Physio appeared to have eased the calf muscle situation a little but the doctor seemed unable to put her finger on my gut problem, a pain that bordered on excruciating in my lower abdomen whenever I exerted myself, e.g. ran.

But it was May Bank Holiday, for goodness sake. Holidays are for enjoyment and how the heck could I enjoy myself if I couldn't run? There was only one answer to the situation - drugs. So, on Friday evening, out came those tiny but effective Voltarol tablets for the first 75mg dose which was washed down with a rather choice vintage. Not to mention a wee dram. This dose was repeated morning and evening for the next three days. The pills I hasten to add, not the alcohol.

Beside the River Wharfe

On Saturday morning I couldn't get out of bed quick enough in my anxiety to get into running gear and hit the trail. I chose a 4 mile route that was mainly flat, across fields into Grassington then back along the riverbank. I'd barely gone a mile before a nasty pain shot through the offending Rt calf muscle, as if someone had given me an almighty kick. I dropped to a walk, seething with frustration, then gritted my teeth, said a few unholy words under my breath, then broke into a jog - and sod the consequences. By some miracle the pain went away and by the time I reached the riverbank I was able to put in a few faster bursts, what I call 20's and 30's which refers to the number of times my Rt foot hits the ground. It's my own brand of fartlek. On a good day I'll get up to a hundred then reduce it by ten each time, back down to twenty, getting faster as I come down the ladder. On Saturday I only got up to 50 but I was happy with that.

On Sunday my wonderful partner was patrolling Barden Fell, on Ranger duty in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, so I ran alone - eventually. It didn't stop raining until after lunch so it seemed like I spent the whole morning ramming calories down to later convert into energy. It didn't really work. Gale force wind had me virtually running on the spot all the way up the Ghyll towards Yarnbury then, quite perversely, all the way back. After five miles I fell through the door and slumped onto a chair in a state of total exhaustion. I cannot even remember climbing into bed that night - and it was nothing to do with alcohol!

The weather on May Bank Holiday Monday was diabolical, the holiday hoardes conspicuous by their absence and our local ice cream seller having shut up shop. But our patience was rewarded around 2pm when a hole appeared in the clouds from which nothing was precipitating. We drove round to Yarnbury, parked the car and set off on a 7 mile run around Mossdale. It was a very slow start. My gut was erupting, my breathing became stertorous and I felt weak as a kitten. The first uphill section had me reeling around like someone drunk. I collided with a wall at one stage which prompted my wonderful partner to ask if I wanted to throw in the towel and go back to the car. I didn't. At a welcome downhill section my breathing pattern returned to normal so I was able to carry on at a steady pace. My calf muscle was no bother at all.

Track from Mossdale - or into Mossdale, depending which way I'm running!

The snares around the 'stink pit' at Mossdale were exactly as I'd seen them last time I passed several weeks ago, all of them disturbed and unset. The wire on one of them had been cut. It seemed to prove what I've always thought, that our local gamekeeper hardly ever inspects them let alone every 24 hours as he should do by law. The one redeeming factor was that none of them brought me to earth with an almighty bang as they have done on several occasions in the past. It's not much fun when I have to constantly be scanning the ground under my feet rather than gazing at all the wonderful views and wildlife. I wish this gamekeeper would move on. The moor would be a much better, and safer, place to run without him.

I made it back to the car but must confess there were a number of times I had to walk, mainly due to galloping guts ache. But hey, the weekend produced 16 miles of rehabilitating runs. The old legs are beginning to move again albeit not very fast, but I'll work on it, especially when we're savouring our wonderful running circuits in Cornwall during the last two weeks of June.

If it aint broke, don't fix it!

2011-05-25T19:29:00.011+02:00

I wish I was more computer literate, or even literate. I thought it might be a good idea whilst I've still got the galloping trots and swollen calf muscle - and therefore not running - to set about uncluttering my hard drive. There were zillions of unwanted pictures in there amounting to zillions of megabytes of trash I thought might be slowing down my system. Best to get rid of them. So I spent a happy couple of hours, or was it days, zapping them out of my system. Album after album of web pictures were sent scuttering down to the bottom left hand corner of my screen, where the Recycle Bin lives, then launched into their own little corner of eternity never to be seen again.

A little later I reckoned it was time I updated my Blog, not that anything exciting or newsworthy had happened. I just thought people who regularly read my ramblings in such exotic places as Moldova, Tajikistan, Brunei Darussalam, Thailand and the Russian Federation might sink to depths of despair should they leap out of bed anxious to learn of my latest exploits (albeit such mundane things like massaging my calf muscle and popping pills in between visits to the loo) only to find there was nothing there to brighten up their mornings.

Old Runningfox in his den - having a break from fixing this Blog

Anyhow, to my great horror, all the used pictures I'd merrily deleted from my web albums had also disappeared from my Blog. All that was left was a lot of empty boxes with utterly meaningless captions underneath. I'd mistakenly supposed once the pictures were published on the internet, they were stuck there forever and ever, Amen. Not so.

So in case anyone has been wondering why I haven't posted lately it's (a) because this is supposedly a running Blog, and I haven't really done any running to write about and (b) I've been busy hunting and retrieving pictures from various sources to make my Blog look semi-respectable again. Needless to say they're not always the same pictures as before. Most of the originals are floating around somewhere in cyber space and I've no intentions of nipping up there to retrieve them. Well, not just yet!

A funny owd week.....

2011-05-13T21:17:00.019+02:00

Running the Mossdale track.....

It started off well enough last Friday, the occasion of my 79th birthday (God, have I been around that long?) when my wonderful partner and I went for a six mile run to Appletreewick and back to mark the occasion. I felt fine, energetic enough to turn the run into a fartlek session with lots of fast bursts and short uphill sprints. I was even beginning to think it was time to get back onto the track. Next year I'll be moving into the MV80 category and I'd like to have a go at the British 800m record if I can maintain my fitness. Evening was a social affair at our local hostelry, the Clarendon, where I was treated to a mouth-watering rib-eye steak and a wee drop of the hard stuff, MacAllan malt whisky, two of my favourite luxuries.

Mountain pansies

On Saturday things started to turn a bit pear-shaped. After less than two miles of a planned 10 mile run I felt an ominous ache in my Rt calf muscle. The call of a ring ouzel gave me an excuse to walk while trying to locate it but, when I started to run again, the ache was still there. In hindsight I should have quit running and walked gently back home but instead I carried on jogging but reduced the distance to less than five miles. Encountering my first ring ouzels of the year and seeing my first swifts did nothing to raise my spirits. Nor did the bright yellow mountain pansies that dotted the moorland trail.

By Sunday morning the ache had evolved into a pain as I made my way around Grimwith reservoir with a very pronounced limp. Running was out of the question. Time for rest, a bag of frozen peas and elevation. I was not a happy bunny though I was hopping - hopping mad!

...and where I'd like to be running

On Tuesday things got worse. To compound my miserable state, brought on by not being able to run, my tummy problem returned with a vengeance, so much so that I daren't for the life in me venture very far away from the loo! On Thursday, with great difficulty, I managed to make an appointment at our local surgery to see a doctor, supposedly at 11am. My regular GP was fully booked but such was the urgency I agreed to see one of the other doctors who turned out to be a lady, a very young lady! "She's running a bit late" I was told as I checked in to the surgery. She sure was. It was 12.15 and another loo visit later when I eventually got to see her - by which time my anxiety levels were rocketing through the roof. "Are you alright with just me, or would you like someone else present" she asked as she screened my semi-nude body ready for an internal examination of the offending orifice. I felt so rotten I couldn't care less who was there. Just get on with it or, if you'll excuse the pun, let's get to the bottom of this.

I was expecting to come away with a prescription for powerful anti-biotics but instead I was given a little tube into which I was asked to provide a 'sample' for analysis, or culture, at our local Path Lab. So, it will be another six days before we get the results by which time I'll probably have flushed myself down the loo!

So, in the great scheme of things, did mother nature give me a nasty bowel infection to prevent me running until my calf muscle heals, or did she give me a painful limp to stop my gallop until all the nasty little tummy bugs have been well and truly zapped? Answers on an e-card please!

I'm ashamed to say......

2011-05-03T20:52:00.020+02:00

..... we never got to Keswick to run the ½ marathon on May 1st. A painful swelling on the ball of my wonderful partner's foot put paid to any thoughts she might have had about running it whilst a persistent tummy bug thwarted my plans. Being a blue-blooded Yorkshireman I'm not sure which hurt most, the abdominal pain or the mental anguish of having paid my entry fee and not getting my money's worth from it! I could have run, while my partner spectated, but there's no way I could have given of my best. I'll freely admit, I don't race for fun. I might RUN for fun in all seasons through our beautiful countryside but when it comes to racing it's a bit more serious, it hurts, and I'll go through hell to get into the prize list. Some would call me a pot hunter and I suppose I am, but if that's what encourages me to run and keep fit well into my dotage, then so be it. It's better than the alternative!

Street Party

So what did we do over the May Bank Holiday? Well, quite a lot really. It began on Friday with a wonderful Street Party that brought out almost everyone in the village for a three hour spree of wining and dining. There were a couple of brief interruptions, the first for mass participation in a funny sort of game called Heads and Tails, the second for a hilarious Duck Race where a dog jumped into the water and rendered the result void by decapitating two of the participants. There was a re-run while the offending animal was kept under control. I'd refused to 'buy' a duck on the grounds that none of them had any known form! All this fun and frivolity was in celebration of some helicopter pilot who was marrying the woman he lived with.

Saturday was 'Three Peaks' day when we drove to Horton-in-Ribblesdale to watch my favourite race. We arrived ¾ hr before it was scheduled to start and couldn't believe the amount of traffic being funnelled into three large fields. Competitors from farther afield had camped overnight to make the 10 o'clock start. A huge marquee (that cost the Association £2,000 to hire), a smaller one for registration, a Start and Finish gantry, trade stalls and loud speaker system were all in situ ready for the 'Off'. The whole shebang covered several acres of ground while 763 runners, plus an equal number of followers and spectators milled around. I couldn't help thinking how vastly different this was from my first experience of the race in 1956 when there were just 23 starters and the entire 'furniture' consisted of the Entry Secretary's table and chair in a field behind the Hill Inn at Chapel-le-Dale.

Dog among the ducks

Although there was warm sunshine out of the wind it was cold and blustery on the tops, particularly on the highest summit, Whernside, where runners were in danger of being blown over. It didn't seem to bother Tom Owens of Shettlestone Harriers who skipped down the summit rocks of Ingleborough and disappeared across the moor before I could get a picture of him. I've never been more impressed! No-one had a cat in hells chance of catching him as he went on to win the men's race by almost three minutes in 2.53.54. Young Robbie Simpson of Deeside Runners was second. Anna Frost, a Kiwi who specializes in mountain races, was equally impressive in the Lady's event. Her winning time was 3.30.00, four minutes ahead of Helen Fines of Calder Valley Fell Runners. My old mate Bill Wade of Holmfirth Harriers, a few days short of his 70th birthday, got a rousing reception as he crossed the Finish line in 5.38.32. The amazing Wendy Dodds had 281 runners behind her when setting a new LV60 record of 4.34.01. Such achievements invariably evoke the odd tear as I watch them striding proudly down the finishing field to all the well-earned cheers. I know exactly how they feel as I reel with nostalgia and wish I was young again. Then again, if the Three Peaks Race Association ever introduce an MV80 category.......!

Sunday was declared a day of relaxation. Well, sort of. After numerous eruptions of my tummy problem over the past 24 hours I reckoned it a good idea to give Chapel a miss in the morning, thus retaining my stainless reputation! Instead, I took myself for a bumbly run in the great outdoor church of Grassington Moor to boost my spirits in the more natural surroundings of sun and wind and wild music. Eight miles was all I could manage in my weakened state. The rest of the day was spent in a sheltered corner of the garden soaking up healing sunshine whilst partaking of copious amounts of fluid to flush out the offending bugs. It seemed to work for on Monday we set off from Grimwith reservoir for a 10 mile walk/run around the nether regions of Wig Stones and Cranberry Moss, on the Nidderdale border, where we got hopelessly off route in the trackless bogs but still enjoyed our wild situation in glorious weather. My strength appears to be returning. Roll on the next race.

Mull, Iona and Ulva

2011-04-26T21:01:00.048+02:00

Iona Abbey

Nine days of relaxation on three of our favourite islands is hardly an appropriate way to train for a long, hilly race. I've a feeling I might suffer a little in the forthcoming Keswick ½ marathon on May 1st. Nevertheless, there are other things to enjoy in this short span besides running and racing and I intend taking my fill while I'm still in a fit state to do so. The islands in question were those of Mull, Ulva and Iona that form part of the Inner Hebrides off the western seaboard of Scotland.

'Crucifixion' by Roy de Maistre

I've returned to Iona on a regular basis ever since living and working there way back in 1949. My goodness, how it has changed over the years! The people I worked for, Neil MacArthur and his wife, Ena, are long since dead but a daughter, Jeanetta, still works the little farm at Clachanach and was tending to an early lamb when I met her for a chat. She loves Iona, the farm and the way of life, but is seriously considering reducing her stock and winding down on account of the ridiculous amount of paperwork she is legally bound to do.

I joined worshippers from across the globe for a stirring Easter day service and Holy Communion in Iona Abbey. Many had started their walk on the mainland and trekked all the way across Mull to the sacred isle. Over the years it has become traditional for pilgrims to gather in Reilig Oran, reputed burial place of 48 Scottish kings (and John Smith, once Labour party leader), to sing and celebrate the resurrection before their short march to the Abbey amid a chorus of Allelujahs. The preacher was the Rev Peter MacDonald, leader of the Iona Community, who delivered his sermon to a packed congregation, scores of whom were standing in the aisle. I left this service with my spiritual batteries well and truly re-charged.

Washing at 'The well of Eternal Youth'

Outside the Abbey a corncrake was rasping to his fellow creatures but his vocabulary was somewhat limited. We walked up Dun I which, at a mere 321ft, is the highest hill on Iona and quite manageable for most senior citizens. The views from here are truly magnificent and I've toyed with the idea of my final remains being scattered around its summit. But which of my relatives or friends would be willing to make the long trek to perform this ritual? And besides, if I continue to bathe in The Well of Eternal Youth, just below the summit, I may well outlive that chosen one!

On some mornings we did a little running at an easy, relaxed pace. None of your strenuous speedwork, intervals or hill reps. Our legs were on holiday too. On Mull we ran along the shore of Loch na Keal to the soothing sounds of the waves, of wild geese and, would you believe, an early cuckoo on April 18th.

Cheers! - from Ulva

On Ulva we jogged along velvety green trails lined with primroses and violets, where peacock butterflies danced and bumble bees buzzed in the gentle breeze, and all this as seals sang their moany songs on sunlit skerries while herons stalked the seaweed shoreline. In the afternoons we walked the hills in the realm of ravens and deer, watched an eagle drop from his cliff and go sailing off over the headland, saw a peregrine seeing off marauding crows, spied a colony of wild black and white goats inhabiting a small island and wondering where they found water to drink, sent an adder scurrying off into the heather and photographed early orchids.

A sunset to match the wine

In the evenings we relaxed by our tent with a glass of wine, red wine that vied with the flaring sunsets that lit the western skies as evening dissolved into night. In our sheltered bay the tide crept in and went out again without a sound. The birds fell silent and, apart from the occasional splash of a visiting grey seal, all was peaceful and quiet.

As I said, there is more to life than running and racing - though I may well revise that statement after Sunday's ½ marathon.

Some years ago I picked up a pebble in St Columba's Bay that inspired me to write the following poem which I think is appropriate to copy here.

IONA STONE

Gem hunters, I suppose, would call you semi-precious
Or little more than a bauble of common marble
Green-veined with serpentine
The like of which litter the pebbled shores
Of many a far-flung Scottish isle.

Yet on a day
When white horses came cantering into Columba's Bay
You were the one in a million shining stone
That leapt into my hand, sun-bleached,
Tumbled and polished by aeons of breaking tides -
Fair fragment of Iona.

Semi-precious?
How do you value the wind
Whispering through the marram on white dunes,
Gulls mewing in the Hebridean blue
Or skulking corncrakes rasping out their joy
In meadows thick with summer flowers?

Bright stone,
You are the whole shimmering isle in magic microcosm,
The Bay at the Back of the Ocean,
Spouting caves and seals singing on black skerries
That rise, fall and rise again in the green swell.
You are litanies of lilting Gaelic -
Traigh Ban nam Manach, Eilean Chalbha,
Sithean, Port na Curaich and Traigh Mor -
You are wild thyme exploding in purple pools
On banks of sweet machair.
You are the bell booming in the granite tower,
The green goblet of the Eucharist,
Candles guttering on grey walls,
Chanting and bowed heads -

Bowed heads
Washed in Holy blood and each of them praying
That they too, like you, might be
The one in a million shining stone
On the long beach
Of eternity.

Snared!

2011-04-11T16:38:00.026+02:00

Last Saturday was a funny sort of day but unfortunately not very ha-ha. In view of a forthcoming hilly half marathon, at Keswick, I decided it was time for some long, slow enjoyable runs while taking full advantage of the warm Spring-like weather. 2½ miles into my run I passed a jolly group of people with a pack of dogs, all on leads. As I jogged by, exchanging pleasantries, one of the dogs growled and took a flying lunge at me, its bare teeth scraping my chest as I instinctively backed away. Had I not moved quickly I reckon I'd have been missing a pound of flesh.

Stink Pit with dead fox on top - and a snare to catch the next one

Perhaps it was a rush of adrenalin that made me move more freely after that incident. Three miles farther along I was flowing down a heathery ramp towards a shooting hut in the wilds of Mossdale when suddenly I was brought to earth with an almighty bang that knocked the wind out of my sails and laid me motionless for a wee while.The wire noose of a fox snare was encircling my ankle and biting into my Achilles tendon. Had I been moving faster that tendon may well have severed leaving me stranded many miles from civilisation with only a whistle to attract attention.

This was the third time Old Runningfox had been brought to earth - courtesy of our over zealous gamekeeper. Round one 'stink pit' (a heap of decaying carcases to attract foxes) I counted eight of these lethal snares at the edge of moorland where sheep and inquisitive young lambs were grazing. One farmer admitted to finding one of his sheep with a badly lacerated leg. Another local farmer, in his seventies, was also brought down with one of these snares. Yet they are tolerated by farmers and shepherds alike. Live and let live is their attitude. There is room on the moor for everyone, including runners. Each to his own interests. I didn't bother to reset the snare as I hobbled off over the incongruous new bridge for the last seven miles of my run. My anger eventually melted in the sun's healing warmth and the soothing sounds of a myriad moorland birds. Maybe, next time, I'll remember to take my mobile phone!

Later, as I relaxed in the garden with a cooling drink, I heard a most beautiful sound, that wonderful distinctive twittering that heralds the arrival of summer. Now, I know 'one Swallow doesn't make a summer' but there were four of them. Time to slap on the sun cream!

Arkendale 10K race

2011-04-05T16:57:00.013+02:00

Sunnyside farm in the picturesque little village of Arkendale certainly lived up to its name. Blue skies, balmy Spring air and birdsong greeted us as we stepped from the car opposite the 'Bluebell' where the only occupant, a teddy bear, stared at us from the deserted dining room. Everyone else was going to the races. Due, we suspect, to Ripon's Jolly Holly Jog being re-scheduled to the day before the Arkendale race the number of entries was somewhat depleted although a few hardy souls ran both. Consequently, only half the imposed 400 limit lined up at the start which must have been a major disaster for the organisers. We were told the race would not be run again. It's a shame because Arkendale's quiet location is an ideal venue for runners and the whole organisation ran with clockwork precision. In addition to trade stalls there was tea, cakes and a barbeque for hungry runners. I would certainly have run it again.

More silverware for Old Runningfox

I lined up in the middle of the pack and at the appointed hour someone atop an elevated farm trailer shouted 'Go'. 200 runners surged along the slightly uphill farm track and out onto the road. Compared to my usual training routes this was comparatively flat so not much chance of making up ground on the downhill bits. In just over a mile we turned right down a rough track adjacent to the noisy A1 for the next mile or so. Then it was back onto tarmac for the approach to Coneythorpe where a marshall was shouting "93, 94, 95.." and I thought "What a coincidence consecutive race numbers should be running together, must be a block entry from some club...". Then it dawned on me these were our race positions. Silly me!

Cliff Simm, MV80, at Arncliffe

I lost a couple of positions at the water station when I slowed to a walk to get some fluid down. It really takes my breath away and I struggle to get back into rhythm. Usually I can regain places lost, and so it was on this occasion. Back at Arkendale we were diverted into a vicious loop through a couple of long fields, over a footbridge and along a farm track back to the road. Wearing Roclites I was in my element over the rougher stuff and managed to move up two more places. In the latter stages of the race I cunningly drafted behind a tall well built gentleman I dubbed 'the man in black' and now it was his turn to be shown a clean pair of heels as we arced around the slightly bumpy, grassy field to the 'Finish'. I was 89th of 200 finishers in 51.30 - good enough to pick up yet more silverware for 1st MV70.
After the race I'd the pleasure of meeting Painted Runner - currently in her tapering stage before the London marathon - and the spritely, energetic Cliff Simm of Easingwold Running Club who scooted in to take the MV80 prize.
After a very pleasant day two happy but race-weary runners returned to Hebden for a meal at the Clarendon (courtesy of my wonderful partner's Canadian sister-in-law) that was rounded off nicely with sticky toffee pudding and a celebratory dram of Laphroig before retiring to bed. Racing days don't come much better!
Full results here:

Thirsk 10 mile race

2011-03-28T19:19:00.015+02:00

New bit of bling....

The weather was cool with high cloud and hazy sunshine for Sunday's 10 mile Championship race at Thirsk. This was the race that was cancelled last November due to icy conditions, so all the trophies and T-shirts are dated 2010. It was the flattest course I've raced on for quite some time, possibly years, and I'd quite forgotten how to handle it. Apart from a slight incline over a railway bridge the rest was flat as the proverbial pancake. With almost 800 runners crammed into a narrow road for the Start I lined up as close to the front as I dared so as not to be held up. As a result I got carried away a bit fast, for me, averaging 7.41 over the first four miles. Inevitably, the old legs started to seize up and with the exception of another 7.41 for the sixth mile all the rest were in the 8's with an inexcusable 9.06 for the 8th mile. I finished 455th of 741 runners in 80.29 (chip time), fast enough to take the MV75 title in the Yorkshire Veterans Championship. That time also takes me top of the MV75 10 mile Rankings for 2011 though there are nine months left for someone to topple me.

....and a new T-shirt

I was a bit miffed about the lack of category prizes in the North of England Championship race that finished at MV70 and LV70. Considering pre-entries closed before race date, organisers knew full well there were runners in the MV75 and MV80 categories and, to my mind, should have catered for them in this prestigious event. They were even mean enough to limit prizes to the first two in the MV70 category (which was effectively three categories in one) as opposed to first three places in all the others. Anyhow, so far as I'm concerned I was 1st MV75 in the Northern Championship - albeit unofficially - along with the remarkable John Johnson of St Theresa's who turned out to prove he was best MV80 in the north. We train hard for these events and at our end of the age scale need all the encouragement we can get rather than being dismissed as eccentric old fuddy-duddies! Rant over.

With limited training my wonderful partner and I both found this race particularly hard and returned home somewhat drained. Unlike the incredible Runningbear (1st lady in 58.38) who, along with her speedy partner (a PB of 58.01), chose to celebrate their victories at a local hostelry, we retired to bed early after our Sunday roast and a rather nice bottle of wine..

Today, I was back out running on the moor with the whirling plovers and warbling curlews for company whilst my wonderful partner somehow found energy for a bit of cavorting - aka Scottish country dancing. Roll on next weekend's 10K at Arkendale - I think!
Full results here:

Old age and decrepitude

2011-03-22T17:22:00.068+01:00

A summary of last weeks activity - and reasons for inactivity.

Monday: Feeling a wee bit blah after fifteen miles at the weekend but set off in the morning on a regular 6 mile run to the hamlet of Yarnbury - and back. This scenic run incorporates two fast miles which I completed in 6.52 and 6.48. I've run them faster, and recently, but was happy with the day's performance.

Tuesday: Maybe it's old age and decrepitude that every now and then manifests itself in what I call 'a banana back' when I've difficulty getting out of bed and walking is painful. With a very distinct lurch to starboard running is out of the question, and so it was today. At such times when I can hardly hobble out of the door I keep myself motivated by reading other people's running Blogs (like that of Julia Armstrong), or inspiring books (such as John L Parker's Once a Runner), or by affirming choice mantras like one recently sent me by Julie Reyes, aka The Hotlegs Runner, that simply states 'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me' (Philippians 4:13).

Julie's Mantra below the picture in my quiet corner

Wednesday/Thursday: My aching back continued to cramp activities so very little got done on these two days. I figured my body was trying to tell me something, i.e. "It's time to take a short rest from training activities, I'll let you know when you can start again". Yeah, OK body, message received.

In the meantime a large and exceedingly healthy looking rat was playing about on my lawn. It seemed to think food I'd put out for birds was intended for it, and maybe it's family, so was storing it in a neat little tunnel under the compost bin. It was fascinating to watch but might be different if six of its mates arrived, especially if I happened to be sunbathing on the lawn at the time! I phoned the pest control officer who plugged various holes with little sachets of something exceedingly nasty and assured me I wouldn't see the little critter again.

Friday: Got out of bed to discover I could walk straight again. Had the pain really gone, or were the umpteen grams of Paracetamol merely masking it? I decided to give it another day before running again - mainly because I didn't have much time anyway. I'd run out of food so there was shopping to do. Bulbs and seeds needed planting and other annoying little jobs reared their ugly heads. Ah, that necessary evil of good weather - gardening!

Saturday: Dawned warm and sunny, so couldn't resist donning shorts (for the first time this year) and vest to set off along the River Wharfe on one of my choice runs. My Garmin registered 10.42 miles for the out and back route and the good thing about it was it only took 7 seconds longer for the return leg from the turn-around point at Barden Bridge. Those few seconds might well have been eliminated if I hadn't slowed briefly to talk to a couple who were training for the Dales 100 mile race that takes place in May. When I caught up with them at Howgill they'd already covered 18 miles and still had another 6 or 7 to do on their way back to Grassington. Wish I could do that!

The afternoon was taken up introducing our next Methodist Minister, Rev Janet Clasper, to the delights of Hebden Chapel, in the Grassington Circuit, where she'll take up her preaching duties in early September. Important things for her to note were (a) the pulpit can only be accessed from the right side of the Chapel. If she enters by the steps on the left she's likely to fall down a hole at the back. And (b) there's an almost invisible swing-arm in the Communion rail to gain admittance, so no need to inelegantly stride over to take our offerings, or when administering the Sacrament.

Sunday: We'd intended parking at Barden Bridge and running a 5 mile circuit to Cavendish Pavillion, and back, but by 9.30 in the morning every available parking place was occupied by weekend visitors to this lovely stretch of the River Wharfe. We'd chosen that area because my wonderful partner had been thrilled to spot a Kingfisher when she ran there a few days previously. I wanted to see it too! Not wishing for a particularly long run after yesterday's 10 mile effort we backtracked along the road to find a suitable parking place and ran a different stretch of the river. It was a very pleasant and relaxed four miles, but no Kingfisher.

The evening was spent eating, drinking and generally being quite merry in the company of friends who'd recently returned from their earthquake ravaged home in Christchurch, New Zealand. Despite all the groans and grumbles about this country of ours, and how it's run, I'm not sure I'd like to live anywhere else!

Spring in my step

2011-03-15T15:39:00.009+01:00

Last week was another reasonable one training-wise, with a tough 24 miles, but feel sure I'd achieve more if I'd a running partner of equal ability, or perhaps slightly faster, to sprinkle a bit of competitiveness into my solo efforts. Some years ago I trained with a a chap called Donald Bamforth, a butcher who sold some wonderful pies. He was five years younger than me and ever so slightly faster. After a reasonable warm-up he'd say "Come on, time for an effort" and he'd be away like the clappers for anything up to a mile in distance with me nearly killing myself trying to catch him!

Our runs were always off-road, often along one or more legs of the Calderdale Way Relay, anything up to 14 miles and hardly ever slower than 7½ minute mile pace. We'd no Garmins at that time, we just pressed 'Start' on our watches at the beginning of a run and 'Stop' at the end, so no way of knowing the exact speed we were running at any given time. I'd guess our 'efforts' were run at around 5½ - 6 minute mile pace. After 8 or 9 miles when I was feeling decidedly weary Donald would say "Come on, last one now" - and I'd think "Oh God, not another" - but it was amazing how the old legs would immediately respond, the adrenalin would kick in and I'd go all out to run him down. Donald boasted the distinction of having won the MV50 category in the London Marathon against tough world-wide opposition, and with his help and encouragement I emulated his performance by winning London's MV60 category - twice.

I miss those sessions. Nowadays all my serious training is done alone, no-one to chase down, no-one snapping at my heels, but the idea of 'efforts' still holds strong. On Saturday I went for a wild off-road run around Mossdale, a route of 11 miles with over 1,300ft of ascent. Towards the end, when I was slowing down and beginning to feel quite knackered, I suddenly imagined Donald's voice saying "Come on, time for an effort". Miraculously, my old legs sprang to life and I churned out a last mile at 7.15 pace. It just goes to show, the human body is capable of achieving far more than we'd normally think or allow.

Spring is in the air

2011-03-08T17:58:00.010+01:00

Spring is early this year. On the very first day of March when morning frost contrasted sharply against a brilliant blue sky the countryside was alive with birdsong. Scores of new lambs snuggled up to their mums in sunlit fields around Bolton Abbey. Catkins shook like little lamb's tails in the gentle breeze. In village gardens crocuses saluted the sun, opening their purple, white and yellow petals to full extent. A local farmer said his fields had never looked so green so early in the year.

On Saturday we were joined by my eldest son for a walk around Burnsall in the morning and Hebden Ghyll in the afternoon. Alasdair is an environmentallist and wildlife enthusiast whose keen observations alerted us to all the exquisite sights and sounds of an enchanting day. Like the Dipper that bobbed and curtsied on his favourite stone before disappearing under the gushing waters of the Wharfe for some tasty morsel. Like the striking male Goosander that rode the rapids with his three crested wives. Like the Oyster Catchers, Lapwings and Curlews that filled the air with their joyous pipings. Like the wonderfully formed multi-coloured lichens which, when magnified, resembled miniature coral reefs. Like the recently arrived Redshank that sifted through the sandy shore of Mossy Mere. It was a truly memorable day that ended with a celebratory meal and a suitable vintage to mark the occasion.

High pressure dominated throughout the weekend as Sunday dawned clear and bright over a sparkling frosty landscape. After re-charging my batteries with some lusty singing at morning Eucharist I changed into running gear and set off along the banks of the Wharfe for a 'long run'. Not so long ago, in marathon training days, I would have clocked 18 - 22 miles. Nowadays, in my dotage, I rarely run more than 10. However, I have a 10 mile Championship race coming up on March 27th so felt obliged to run at least that distance, if not a little more. My Garmin actually registered 10.18 miles in a comfortable 1 hour 44 mins. Enough!

In spite of aching quads and painful backache I couldn't resist taking advantage of further good weather on Monday to slot in a bit of speedwork. After a couple of Paracetamols for breakfast I eased myself into gear with a two mile jog past the waterfall in Hebden Ghyll as far as Yarnbury. From the high point of Moor Lane, I unleashed a fast measured mile towards Grassington in 7.06. After another steady jog along Edge Lane and Tinker Lane I churned out another fast mile in exactly 7.00 minutes. It might have been faster if some agricultural vehicle hadn't got in the way down a narrow part of the track! From there on it was only a short jog home to complete a scenic six mile circuit.

And that, you might like to know, is how aspiring octagonarians spend their Spring weekends!

Huddersfield Road Runners 10K race

2011-03-01T15:31:00.030+01:00

For last Sunday's race the forecast was for fine weather, but a coolish 36ºF - ideal for racing - and for once it was right. Entries had reached the limit of 600 runners several days before the event so there were no entries on the day. We arrived in plenty of time to hydrate, locate changing rooms and showers and have loo stops before a longish warm-up to ease the old muscles into smooth working order.

At 11am prompt a hooter sounded. We were away. After a flat 150m around the front of the sumptuous clubhouse in Lockwood the route began to climb, up, up and up again for over two lung-bursting miles through the village of Netherton till I began to wonder if there was any strength left in my old legs to prevent them buckling at the next section down Crosland Factory Lane. They survived, but not as well as those young whippersnappers who came thundering by with no respect for geriatric joggers!
We looped left, crossed a rushy dike and began another steady climb almost back into Netherton. I could grow to hate that place! My quads were singing by now and it took a little time to get into full flow down Moor Lane and Bankfoot Lane to the five mile point at Armitage Bridge where we crossed the River Holme. Here, I managed to sneak past two younger club mates I'd been shadowing since the start.

Profile of Huddersfield 10K

After yet another short steep ascent we burst out onto the busy Woodhead road with easy going to the six mile marker before a flat, fast bit of tarmac along Waterside to the Finish.

I placed 233th of 491 finishers in 52.33 so was well satisfied with my performance over this strenuous course with its cumulative 1,000ft of ascent. It's some time since I finished in the leading half of the field so figure my training must be paying dividends. All finishers received a classy Fruit of the Loom T-shirt emblazoned with Huddersfield Road Runners logo.

To make it an extra special day my wonderful partner's 433 placing and time of 64.21 gave her 1st place in the LV65 category, 7 minutes ahead of the LV60 winner. We each received vouchers to the value of £25.00 towards running related products.

It was a good day all round for our club, Longwood Harriers, for besides our two category wins, in the MV75 and LV65, Ian Mitchell won the MV55 category, Donald Kennedy took the MV45 prize and Brian Boothroyd the MV80 title. The Longwood raiding party was in top gear! Full results here.

Back to La Palma

2011-02-15T18:56:00.025+01:00

Hotel Playa La Taburiente

It felt so good to escape our chilly British winter and languish in the soothing warmth of La Palma in the beautiful Spanish Canary Islands. Our Hotel, the Taburiente Playa in the resort of Los Cancajos, boasted four stars and pampered us like Royalty. Neither of us have ever seen such a vast variety of excellent food that catered for every nationality and taste, carnivore or vegetarian. It was awfully tempting to overeat but after the first day of unbridled indulgence I gave my greedy belly a good talking to and disciplined myself to concentrate on healthier choices of fish, salads and fruit, albeit in quite large amounts with just the right measure of wine to aid the digestive processes!

The temperature in the pool hovered between 25º - 27º so was always warm enough for swimming, even for nesh Yorkshire people who can be a bit reluctant to doff their woolly hats and mufflers! Between walks and runs we spent many hours in or around the pool soaking up the sun, watching the world go by - or in my case unashamedly taking sneaky peeks at topless ladies!

Bougainvillea

La Palma is reputedly the steepest island in the world, a walker's paradise but a little exhausting for runners, particularly very old runners, like me! But on eight occasions, to keep ticking over, we ran our breakfasts off with an undulating 4 mile loop around our resort before cooling off and recuperating by the pool.

On other days we took off into the hills reaching heights of around 6,000ft on a couple of occasions, on Pico Bejenado and Pico Birigoyo, and almost 6,500ft on the day we walked/jogged the 19km chain of seven volcanoes from El Pilar to Fuencaliente in the south of the island. Thankfully, none of the volcanoes on the island have erupted since 1971. The Caldera de Taburiente, six miles across and a mile deep, is said by some to be the largest volcanic crater on earth. It's rim around the 8,000ft contour, almost twice the height of Ben Nevis, was draped in snow and inaccessible for much of the time. We never got there.

Running the Volcano route

Neither did we venture into the lush rain forest area to the north of the island on this occasion, but many of the places we did visit were equally flambuoyant. Laurel, Canary Pine, Prickly Pear, Palm, Orange and Lemon trees, White Broom, Dragon trees and countless acres of Banana plantations covered the landscape. Flowers were everywhere, of every colour, and wherever there were flowers there were butterflies. Frustratingly, we could put names to very few of them but our hearts were always uplifted by the masses of Bougainvillea adorning gaily coloured walls and patios. Kestrels hovered over the bare lava fields, presumably hunting lizards. Chaffinches begged for food on the very summit of Pico Bejenado and in many places shiny black Choughs honoured us with their striking presence.

Almond blossom

To the west of the island Almond trees carpet the slopes with delicate pink blossoms. To celebrate the occasion a festival is held at Puntagorda on the first weekend in February when crowds fill the streets in their thousands for music and dancing, eating and drinking - and in some cases maybe imbibing a little to excess. Perhaps it's an indication of how enthusiastically they tend to celebrate when local police and ambulances were lined up to presumably deal with any emergency that might arise. So too was the local Fire Engine, though I'm not sure why. Maybe they were just intent upon enjoying the festival along with everyone else.

Many of the people holidaying on the island were from the same area of Yorkshire as us, three of them living less than 7 miles away in the village of Meltham where we ran our 10K race only hours before flying south. One of them, Martin who'd spent four years learning to speak fluent Spanish, was good enough to share a taxi to El Pilar on the day we scorched along the volcano route. Another, along with his charming wife, was a gentleman called Andy Styan who is something of a legend in fell-running circles on account of his longstanding record in the Langdale Horseshoe race. He ran the 14 miles with 4,000ft of rocky ascent in 1:55:03. That record was set way back in 1977 and no-one has yet broken it. It was a privilege to shake his hand and I just hope some of his speed and prowess rubs off on me! I'll soon find out. My next race is less than two weeks away.

A bumper week

2011-01-24T18:25:00.017+01:00

Last week was a bumper week mileage-wise, the old Runningfox having clocked up a grand total of 39 with some fairly fast ones - five @ average 7.18 pace and lots of 48 sec intervals @ average 6.45 pace. I'm not quite sure why (!) though there's a 10K race at Meltham this weekend (Jan 30th) which I might do if I don't get too excited about jetting off to La Palma in the Canary Islands a few hours later for some warm weather training. A New Year resolution was to try to do twelve races, one for each month of the year, so Meltham is very much on the cards.

Maybe 39 miles was a few too many because I'm currently feeling a bit Blah, though my powers of recovery, especially when the adrenalin starts flowing, are usually pretty good. Not having raced since the Derwentwater 10 last November I'm dying to know how my 2011 form measures against that of my geriatric contemporaries. Have the festive indulgences, and restricted training in all the snow, taken their toll? Or has the rest been beneficial? I can't wait to find out.

Addendum: Well, we did run the Meltham 10K race after all and conditions were perfect, a bit chilly as we lined up for the start but cool enough to keep the sweat down as we got under way over the rolling Pennine hills. Not being a 'morning' person I was feeling the pressure a bit with the 9.30am start but soon settled into a steady rhythm that got me round in 51.56, enough to win the MV75 category and beat the MV70 winner in the process. My finishing position was 206 from 363 finishers. So well satisfied. My wonderful Longwood Harrier partner clocked 63.02 in 332nd position, one place ahead of the legendary Ron Hill.
Full results here:

After the storm

2011-01-18T17:18:00.012+01:00

It started raining on Friday evening, driven by a fierce westerly wind that rattled the Holly bush and arm wrestled the Silver Birch. It continued all weekend until the Wharfe burst its banks, flooding fields and footpaths. Hills were cloaked in grey mist, streets deserted and smoke blowing in the lane as we stoked our fire against the dank chill. The only time we ventured out was to bring in more coal, more logs. Then, as we lay in bed on Sunday night, stars appeared one by one through gaps in the cloud and an almost full moon sailed majestically past our window, its silvery light creeping stealthily across the room, across our bed. What bliss. The storm was over.

On Monday morning after three days of slothful inactivity the temptation to lace up my Trail shoes and go for a run was irresistable. I'd mileage to make up so I opted for a favourite ten mile route along the riverbank to Barden Bridge - and back. The temperature had risen to double figures. Blackbirds were churning out their melodious tunes as if it were Spring. Mallard must have thought likewise for most of them were already paired, ducks bedazzled by the drake's gaudy plumage.

Water levels had dropped considerably though the river was still in noisy spate. The path on which I was running to Barden had dried out remarkably fast. I waved to a heron that flapped lazily upstream on umbrella wings but, except for a neighbour with her dog and a friendly farmer at Woodhouse, there was nary a soul to be seen along the whole stretch of river to Barden Bridge. To find a better viewpoint for a picture of the bridge I decided to cross it. That done, and still feeling strong, I continued running for another mile, as far as the next bridge at roughly six miles.

This was a bit farther than my computer brain had been programmed for, but I was enjoying it. The sun was out and I could feel it's wondrous warmth on my body as I turned for home with only my silent shadow for company. Hebden beck was still in spate as I crossed my last bridge by the Fish Farm.

My Garmin recorded 12.05 miles. It had taken 2 hours 8 minutes, not a great rate of knots but all the more enjoyable for taking time to absorb all the unfolding miracles of a rather magical day.

Ajit

2011-01-12T14:24:00.011+01:00

An article in a fitness supplement of last Saturday's 'Guardian' about my old friend Ajit Singh brought back some very happy memories of our early association. I first met Ajit on a sultry July afternoon in 1992 after the last runners had crossed the line in the Pennine Marathon. My attention was drawn to a diminutive turbaned figure at the edge of the crowd watching the prize-giving. I doubt if he weighed 7st, his spindly legs were bandaged to above his knees and he sported the long grey beard and moustache of a typical Sikh. To my amazement his name was called to collect a prize in the MV60 category. He'd just completed this strenuous marathon with it's 2,000ft of ascent in 3.51.27. Here was a man I just had to get to know and it wasn't long before we became firm friends.

As a 'good for age' veteran he'd automatic entry into London '93 and insisted I should apply for an entry too to run it with him.

"Sorry Ajit, I can't possibly afford a night in London, I'm out of work and on the breadline".

"No problem, you can stay with me and my friends in Dagenham, it wont cost you a penny" he said.

"But it costs money to get to London, and I don't like big cities". I countered.

"It's only £15 return fare on the coach" he said, "you must come, you will easily beat all the over 60's".

Eventually I gave way to his positive persuasion, sent off the appropriate form and was granted a 'good for age' entry.

Ajit - No. 22168

Thankfully, Ajit was familiar with London so knew where to pick up our numbers, where to catch the Tube to Dagenham and how to get to Blackheath for the start of the race the following morning. He made everything seem so easy. His friends and relations treated me royally, so I arrived at the Start Line in the form of my life, well rested, well fed and well prepared.

Only yards from the front of the Red Start I was over the line in seconds and straight onto automatic pilot, closing eyes and ears to all the race day razzmatazz and focusing all my faculties on the job in hand. My body responded like some well oiled machine programmed to get from A to B in the shortest possible time. Apart from obvious landmarks like Cutty Sark, Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, I remember very little about the race, no elation (or otherwise) at the finish, or quite where I met Ajit to be guided to Victoria Bus Station for the journey home to Huddersfield. All I wanted was to get out of London as quickly as possible. I felt terribly claustrophobic. I hate crowds, I can't stand noise!

It wasn't until three days later that the reality of what I'd done finally began to sink in and invoke an air of well deserved smugness. I'd picked up a copy of 'Athletics Weekly' in WH Smiths, turned to the Results section and learned what Ajit predicted had indeed come true. My time of 2.54.18 was good enough to win the MV60 title among runners from all four corners of the earth in what many regard as the world's most prestigious marathon, a virtual World Championship.

I am deeply indebted to Ajit for bringing about one of the highlights of my racing career. Without his friendly persuasion and help of his friends in Dagenham I would never have got to London. Maybe it was something to do with his Sikh religion that Ajit experienced great joy from being the catalyst of my success. At the Pennine marathon he'd recognized a wee spark within me and fanned it into a flame. Thankyou Ajit, you are a truly magnanimous and wonderful friend to whom I'll be eternally grateful.

A time out from running

2011-01-04T20:52:00.017+01:00

Village carol singers

I'm back, from the Yorkshire Dales, after celebrating the Holy birth and welcoming the New Year in some style! For a period of twelve relaxing days it felt marvellous to be cut off from the world in a tiny village, away from my computer with absolutely no television, just a couple of newspapers and occasional snippets of news on the radio. Carol singers were out with their lamps and lanterns, braving the bitter conditions, harmonizing their voices around the village on Christmas Eve with all monies collected being donated to charity. Being somewhat croaky with the remains of a cold I declined to join them.

For much of the time we couldn't get out of the village. Although there were Severe Weather warnings we tried to get to the Ribble Valley 10K race in Lancashire on 27th but ungritted roads were like glass so we returned to the comfort of our warm cottage. It later transpired the race had been cancelled after a milk tanker slid down a hill blocking a bridge part way along the course.

Christmas dinner

In spite of our lack of activity (no running at all between Christmas Eve and New Years day) we consumed a vast amount of food, though not the traditional Turkey. There are far too many days-worth of meat on a Turkey for our small athletic frames to cope with. And besides, we discovered a couple of years ago we can purchase a fair sized Chicken, a joint of Pork, a joint of Beef rump, lots of streaky bacon and Pigs in Blankets, giving us much more variation, all for less than the price of a Turkey. So we repeated that order again. Amazingly, after consuming a mountain of these calorific goodies and some delectable vintages my weight remained constant, though I dare say the fat/muscle ratio may have changed a little!

Icicles on Rivwr Wharfe at Linton Falls

For the first time in thirty years stretches of the River Wharfe froze from bank to bank. Temperatures dropped to -10ºC creating problems with burst pipes in local houses and farms. Even our Methodist Chapel fell foul of an act of God so our Covenant Service was conducted in perishingly cold conditions. Ironically, it was one of the best attended of the year with insufficient Service Books to go round and more wine having to be sent for half way through Communion!

Hungry Heron by the fish farm

We're normally in Scotland to celebrate New Year but after some tricky experiences with roads and weather last year we reluctantly stayed at home this time. Instead we invited friends around on New Year's Eve for a traditional Scots supper of haggis (suitably saturated with a wee dram of Famous Grouse), tatties and neeps followed by rich Christmas pudding and brandy sauce to hold it down. A somewhat larger dram of single Islay Malt accompanied the midnight chimes amid cries of HAPPY NEW YEAR to us and all our friends. I'm not sure whose idea it was, though possibly mine, it was then decided the New Year might possibly be made even Happier with further applications of that wonderful amber nectar. We retired to bed at half past one, merry as Christmas! That little session marked the Grande Finale to our festive activities. Nine hours later, after 2011 had dawned dull and grey with an arctic north wind sweeping down from Great Whernside and across the moor, I went out and ran ten miles.

Afterwards, as I climbed onto our new-fangled bathroom scales I learned my weight is exactly the same as it was pre-Christmas, body fat measures 17%, visceral fat 7% and my BMI remains at 22.1 It will be interesting to monitor these figures throughout the year. Ideally, I'd like to get my body fat down to around 13% but that means a lot of running, quite a bit more than the 944 miles I churned out in 2010.

Time for reflection

And here's a final thought for you to ponder as you ease into 2011. A septuagenarian fell running acquaintence, George Arnold of Preston Harriers, was asked by his doctor "Have you been a runner all your life?" George replied "No, not yet!" I like that. None of us have reached completion yet. We are all 'work in progress' striving towards wholeness and our ultimate goal. To paraphrase what Paul says in Phillipians 4 v13-14, "One thing I do, forgetting what is behind (in 2010) and straining towards what is ahead (in 2011) I press on towards the goal to win the prize for which God has called me".

A Very Happy New Year to all my fellow Bloggers, readers, and all our loved ones.

Runningfox routes (3)

2010-12-20T23:00:00.004+01:00

Along the Wharfe.

Due to treacherous icy conditions on the hills in and out of Grassington we'd to abandon the car three miles from home on Saturday morning and walk the rest of the way on untreated roads. After half an hour two snow ploughs came hurtling by, as if they were racing, but neither was salting or gritting. That came later. We got our car home around mid-afternoon. A bottle of neat Concentrated Screen Wash buried under our shopping in the boot had frozen!

Snow ploughs - at speed

Sunday was a truly magnificent day when we couldn't resist going for a run. With a covering of snow and temperatures down to -10ºC the landscape glittered like diamonds under a mainly cloudless sky. We opted for one of our regular runs along the River Wharfe where long flat fields are ideal for fast repetitions or fartlek sessions. Each of us wore Yaktrax to ensure we stayed upright.

Leaving the village on a slippery road

Winter wonderland by the River Wharfe, though a bit cold for the
resident Goosanders, Mallard, Heron and Little Grebe

Striding out towards Linton Falls in her Yaktrax

Feed my sheep.......

Linton Parish Church, St Michael and All Angels,
a place of worship since the 12th century

Gulls on the river by the old corn mill at Linton

The 'Tin bridge' over Linton Falls

The weir above Linton Falls - the farthest point of our run today

Mist rising from the river by Hebden suspension bridge

Stepping stones for those who prefer not to use the bridge

Nearly home after a stonking good run!

Yaktrax

2010-12-06T21:09:00.011+01:00

Last year when people were crawling across the streets of Huddersfield on hands and knees, terrified of standing up on the treacherous black ice, my wonderful partner's Canadian sister-in-law sent me a pair of Yaktrax to hopefully keep me upright. Typically, there was an instant thaw!

Sunset by Victoria Tower, Castle Hill

So it wasn't until the recent freezing conditions that I was able to give them a test drive. On a day when temperatures plummetted to -18ºC in Yorkshire I strapped them to my Trail shoes and set off across the gleaming white landscape bound for the highest point on the horizon, a place called Castle Hill which, at 900ft above sea level, is where I do most of my repetition runs. I call it altitude training.

I must say the Yaktrax performed far better than I'd expected considering that under my feet was nothing but rock hard shiny snow/ice. I didn't slip once. I was a little frightened they might spring off my Trail shoes when I moved fast but the rubber bindings never moved.

It was wonderful to wander in sub zero temperatures on top of the world, in the shadow of Victoria Tower, with absolutely no fear of slipping or sliding. Whilst many elderly people were afraid to venture outside their warm homes this happy septuagenarian was marvelling at the breathtaking sunset as the great ball of fire gouged a great hole in the western horizon. I like my Yaktrax.

A bit of ice

2010-12-04T16:24:00.015+01:00

We drove 'goodness knows how many miles' to Thirsk last Sunday only to be told their 10 mile North of England, Yorkshire and Yorkshire Veterans Championship race had been cancelled. Spit! I'd rung the organiser on Saturday evening to ask if the course was runnable. He assured me it was and said he'd just run round it to check it out. Furthermore he said it was a good forecast for Sunday in his neck of the woods. And he was right, it was good. There was no more overnight snow, Sunday dawned absolutely beautiful, cloudless skies and roads perfectly clear all the way to the race venue in Thirsk. Perfect racing weather. All systems go, or so we thought....

Some time after I'd phoned it seems the organisers had spotted a bit of ice on some part of the course and the consensus of opinion was that it was too dangerous to race. To say I was livid was an understatement, I'd to drag myself away before I exploded. I'd trained hard for this race, intent on consolidating my position at the top of the 2010 MV75 British 10 mile road race Rankings. Admittedly, I'm a fell runner so a a few patches of ice might add to the excitement but in no way keeps me from doing what I love doing. Were they frightened of being sued in the event of an accident? Surely not because at the bottom of the Entry Form we all had to sign this:

A bit of ice - up Hebden ghyll

"Declaration – Please enter me for the race as indicated above. I agree that the race organisers will in no way be held responsible for any injury or damage caused to me during the course of the run, and that I am fit and healthy to run".

A much better solution would have been for the organisers to warn runners of any possible danger at whatever point on the course, then left it to the runner's discretion whether to run, or not. Well, that's the way I see it. I certainly would have run. We drove home disgruntedly, to say the least, and went for a long run up the Ghyll where it was REALLY icy, then out onto the moor before a fast mile down Moor Lane to work things out of our system!
Latest news is that the race date has been re-scheduled to March 20th, 2011. Hope I'm still around to run it!

On the dangers of talking to the Press

2010-11-17T17:23:00.004+01:00

I was rather proud of my Derwentwater 10 mile road race result and thought it merited a paragraph in the Athletics column of our local newspaper so I sent a brief email to them because I’d also found out that beating nearly half the field in 1.21.21 had taken me to the top of the official British MV75 Road Race Rankings which means I'm currently the fastest man of my age in Britain over ten miles and I enclosed a picture of the legendary Kenny Stuart presenting me with a prize for this achievement which I was also very proud of because it isn’t very often someone who’s 78 years old is honoured in this way and the ~~Prats~~ Press must have thought so too because they wanted me to ring this man of theirs with more details so he could do a story about this but I said I didn’t want to talk to this man because I’m not very good at talking to people so I sent a link to my Blog from which I said he could glean as much information as he needed for a cracking good story but he didn’t think that was a very good idea and insisted I phone him because it was urgent and there was nothing to be frightened of so very reluctantly I did phone this man and he asked me all sorts of questions but my answers obviously weren't very important or newsworthy because when the story came out the following day he’d written a whole lot of nonsense that was totally different from things I’d told him and which said I was the top fell runner in Britain after running very fast round Derwentwater but that race wasn’t a fell race at all because I’d run all the way on the road and haven't actually competed in a fell race for over twelve months and he also said I’d won countless fell championships in the past but that was a load of tosh because I’ve only ever won one Fell Championship and that was in 2004 when I won the inaugural English MV70 Fell Racing Championship and to rub more salt in the wound he printed a five year old picture of me running in the World Masters Mountain Running Championships instead of the one I was very proud of with Kenny Stuart who really was a top fell runner and King of the Mountains so all in all I was made to look a right silly old fool among fellow athletes who know exactly what I've run and won but maybe thought I’d actually fed this duff information to the ~~Prats~~ Press in which case I'm probably regarded now as a stupid self-opinionated liar who ought to be having psychiatric treatment in an old peoples home to stop me having delusions of grandeur or dreaming up make-believe stories and pretending I'm still a champion fell runner when all I really am is a geriatric top of the pops over ten miles on the road.

Derwentwater 10 and a birthday weekend

2010-11-08T21:10:00.051+01:00

Saturday, a birthday walk.

Ullswater

Awoke to clear skies and a touch of frost that brought leaves shuttering from the trees. The earth under the Maple was blood red, the driveway under the limes a brilliant yellow akin to that road in the Wizard of Oz. After a hasty breakfast we hit the trail bound for Steel Knotts, with its castellated rock tower of Pikeawassa, planning to return by the silence and solitude of lonely Fusedale. Ullswater was smooth as glass reflecting trees, high hills, rocky promontories and the deep blue of an almost cloudless sky.

After recent heavy rain the pier at Howtown was inaccessible. A steamer approached, circling to view the situation, then quickly retreated the way it came. The skipper no doubt realised that under current conditions no could either board or disembark - unless they were prepared to swim!

Birthday girl on Pikeawassa

Thankfully the steep and slippery path up Steel Knotts was mainly in shade but we still sweated profusely as we toiled to its high point at 1,414ft. After recent heavy rain sheep basked in the welcome sunshine, loathe to move as we puffed past. The views were clear, sharp and utterly breath-taking. High in the stainless air a hunting Kestrel hovered on trembling wings. From high on the Nab came the distinct roaring of a Red Deer stag in the last stages of the Rut. We posed together for a birthday picture by Pikeawassa's rock tower, regarded as the sharpest summit in Lakeland.

After ogling the panoramic vistas we descended into the higher reaches of Fusedale. A lone Buzzard dropped silently from the sky onto some unsuspecting prey. The only sounds were of distant streams and the occasional bleating of sheep. We crossed Groove Gill by the old ruin and descended parallel to Fusedale beck. High on the hillside towards the upper reaches of Dodd Gill we spotted two Red Deer stags with half a dozen hinds, all being friendly to each other. Their Rut was over. Time to build themselves up again ready for the rigours of winter.

Keswick and the Moot Hall

We passed Cote Farm, gleaming white among magnificent Larch trees, crossed the bridge and took the path below Bonscale Fell to our base at Ravencragg. Here, after the obligatory cups of reviving tea, my wonderful birthday partner put her cards on display and set about opening her many delightful presents. I'm not allowed to say how old she's become, but suffice to say in tomorrow's run around Derwentwater she'll no longer be racing in the LV60 category!

Sunday, the Derwentwater 10

Everything went right and I was ready for this race, but still felt nervous going to the start line. We'd driven to Keswick early after a good breakfast of muesli - fortified with a few grapes and half a banana - followed by toast with lashings of my wonderful partner's home made marmalade. The start near Moot Hall in the town centre was half a mile from the changing area at Keswick School, so we walked there and back to loosen our legs and locate the nearest toilets. Back at the school runners were arriving in their hundreds to record the highest number of entries in the race's 51 year history.

2nd LV65

Lakeland was lit with brilliant sunshine under cloudless skies but there was a cold nip in the air that prompted me to wear a thermal top under my racing vest as we jogged to the start. And for the first time ever, regardless of how I looked, I wore tight shorts (or are they short tights?) to protect my quads and hamstrings. They were a great success.

I placed myself in the middle of the pack and at 12 noon we were away, charging up the main street past Moot Hall bound for the jaws of Borrowdale. The first 5 miles, as far as the bridge over the River Derwent at Grange, are gently undulating so I was able to maintain a fairly even pace as far as the drinks station near Manesty. Then the climbing began, but nothing too viscious and with level bits in between where I could get my breath back before the next gradient. There were notices at the steeper bits saying 'SMILE, CAMERA AHEAD' so we all tried to look as cheerful as humanly possible as we toiled upwards with Catbells towering above and Brandelhow Park in all it's dazzling autumn glory below us.

Last Maple leaf - waving goodbye

The views across the lake were positively stunning with the great bulk of Skiddaw silhouetted against the sky ahead and the serrated slopes of Blencathra to the north east. There can be no more scenic race than this. Another hill towards Portinscale slowed me down a bit, then it was a flat, fast mile to the finish by Keswick School. My watch registered 1.21.21 - in 321st place from 585 finishers - which was faster than I'd anticipated so over the moon with that, and delighted to score another MV75 victory after my defeat at Richmond three weeks earlier.

With 'King of the Mountains', Kenny Stuart

Mile splits, according to my Garmin were:

1. 8.14

2. 7.53
3. 7.44
4. 8.10
5. 8.16
6. 9.31
7. 7.58
8. 8.08
9. 7.53
10. 7.09

To make it an even more memorable day I was photographed receiving the MV75 prize from that legendary 'King of the Mountains', Kenny Stuart. I shall cherish that photograph. Well, I would if I could find some way of luring it from Keswick A.C.'s website into one of my picture folders, then into this report!

Unfortunately, there was a slight problem with later results when the computer went on strike - as they do - so it was not possible for LV65 and LV70 prizes to be awarded until the results can be ratified. Nevertheless, my wonderful partner was highly delighted with her time of 1.39.14 but the second lady in the LV65 category was close to that time too. Time will tell - so to speak - as we eagerly await the final results.
ADDENDUM. Time has now told (!) and in the final results my Longwood partner finished 34 seconds and just seven places behind the LV65 winner, Liz York, but quite happy with her 2nd place performance. Full results here.

Richmond Castle 10K

2010-10-18T19:25:00.033+02:00

The day dawned clear and frosty with brilliant sunshine. A distinct nip in the air prompted many runners to don leg warming tights, rather than shorts. I'd driven into the market square early in order to secure a sunny parking spot adjacent to all that was going on, and where I could stay warm until the very last minute. For more freedom I'd opted to wear shorts.
Shortly before 11am the flow of traffic ceased, the square blocked by hoardes of runners and their supporters.A hooter sounded and the chattering heaving mass surged forward, gathering momentum down the ridiculously steep cobbled hill towards the river.We turned sharp right, off-road through a grassy section called 'The Batts' where we'd hopefully get our second wind before crossing the river and beginning the long uphill section towards Catterick Garrison.We rustled through fallen leaves with sunlight shafting through the trees onto a kaleidoscope of multi-coloured vests and gaudy T-shirts. "See on the polished stones it danced, like childhood laughing as it went" (Shelley) was an apt description of the River Swale flashing blue and white with diamond glints between its grassy banks.

As we began to climb, the early race banter faded away, turning instead to heavy breathing and rasping grunts. Some who'd sprinted off too fast were already reduced to a walk as the field began to spread out. We reached the high point around 4km where we could briefly enjoy the luxury of some level running to stabilize our breathing before the next inevitable undulations.

"I thought there must be some bloomin' downhill somewhere" I remarked to fellow runners on a short descent after the welcome water station, but there was another nasty little climb to the 8km marker where, again, many were reduced to walking. Those I spoke to were unanimously agreed that this course has a lot more uphill than downhill, or so it would seem, with an absolutely soul destroying 'coup de grace' over the last ¼ mile up steep cobbles to finish in the Castle grounds. A lady said "I'm a fell runner but in all my races I've never known a finish as hard as that". I had to agree but, the more challenging the course, the greater our satisfaction in its completion, a fact borne out by hoardes of jubilant runners expressing their joy to all and sundry in the Finish area. It was a truly wonderful atmosphere.
Based on recent performances I'd calculated that 52 minutes would be an achievable target to aim for, an average of 8.22 per mile. But how do you strike an average on a course with more ups and downs than a fiddler's elbow? A pace bracelet suggested by Westie in a Runner's Forum with my predicted mile times of 8.22, 16.44, 25.06 - and so on - would be fairly useless on any course other than flat (and even more useless at Richmond where I discovered the course was marked in kilometres!). So, what to do? The only solution for me was to plant the figure 52 into the recesses of my racing brain and run to the limits of my current ability. It seemed to work for I crossed the line with 17 seconds to spare in 51.43 - placing 232nd of 452 finishers.

On a course with over 700ft of ascent I was happy with that - until I saw the results! It transpired that two inconsiderate and over zealous 70 year olds had sneaked home ahead of me and robbed me of a prize! Being officially recorded in the Results as 1st MV75 was little consolation given that I was the only MV75 which realistically meant I hadn't actually beaten anybody! But seriously, the MV70 winner, George Buckley, an unattached runner from Nottingham, is quite phenomenal though his time of 47.04 is some way behind that of the amazing Harold Dobson who finished 69th overall in 2007 to set an MV70 course record of 43.52. The 2nd placed MV70, Ian Barnes of Darlington Harriers had previously beaten me by 2mins 47secs at Kilburn, but I'd reduced that lead to 1min 20 secs in this race. I'm working on him!
So what now? Well, back to the bloomin' drawing board, of course, but not before I've given my old legs a jolly good talking to!
Full results here:

September's running

2010-10-06T22:27:00.009+02:00

To summarise, September was a good month running-wise although, largely due to a two week vacation in Switzerland, my actual mileage was only half that of the previous month, a mere 64 miles over nine days. But amongst it was some quality stuff, long altitude runs, fast miles, fartlek sessions, even faster 120m repeats and a hard half marathon at Great Langdale in the Lake District.

The weather was kind too, mainly dry with sunny days and not too cold. Only once, running at 6,000ft round the Daubensee in Switzerland, did I have to wear winter tights to protect my old legs. With lots of strenuous high level walking too in Switzerland I managed to shave off a bit of belly fat too and get back to my best racing weight of 9st 12 lbs. My pulse, which generally hovers around 44bpm, was down to 38 at the last count which is a sign of reasonable fitness.

People sometimes ask "Do you take any supplements?" and I have to reluctantly confess that I do, mainly for joint health and more specifically for my knees. One, which I've taken for many years and swear by, is a combined capsule containing 500mg Cod Liver oil and 500mg of Evening Primrose oil. High strength Glucosamine is something else I've taken for a number of years although not convinced it does any good! Lastly, to control my cholesterol levels, my doctor insists I take statins which, I'm told, inhibit the production of Co-enzyme Q10, so I take a daily capsule of Co-enzyme Q10 to restore the status quo (though I'm not sure whether the latter is actually a supplement, or medication). So that's it. I reckon all other required vitamins, minerals and nutrients are there a-plenty in my varied fresh food diet. Well, that and the occasional glass of Shiraz for the stomach's sake!

Great Langdale ½ Marathon

2010-09-27T19:18:00.038+02:00

Friday

Friday night camp

On the day before the race we camped in the Langdale Valley at a beautiful, well hidden spot we haven't used for years and were pleased to find it hasn't changed one little bit. The site is not on any map, nor is there any sign at the entrance. Even when you drive into the yard scattering the geese and assorted poultry there is no evidence of anywhere to camp. To find it you have to pass through another two gates into an east facing field that catches the early morning sun. The sum total of facilities amounts to two loos and one very cold water tap. The cost is £3 pppn. What more could we want?

The afternoon was spent walking one of the hillier parts of the race route, returning past a tranquil tarn dotted with waterfowl against a backdrop of towering Langdale Pikes. Dusk fell as we fuelled our bodies with a delicious chicken risotto. Soon, a full moon was sailing across the sky, the Plough stood upright against the dark wall of night pointing to the Pole star, an owl hooted in the distance and the campsite dissolved into eerie silence.

Saturday.

Hard work up the 1 in 3 hill to Blea Tarn

We rose at 7.30am to find the field covered in white frost, but the sun was soon on our tent imparting a cosy warmth. Breakfast was a huge pan of porridge laced with sugar and sultanas for both instant and slow release energy. By 9.30 the tent was packed and we were on our way to the race venue outside the New Dungeon Ghyll hotel in Great Langdale where crowds were already gathering. We had two hours to psyche ourselves into a positive frame of mind to tackle the strenuous course, perhaps the toughest but most scenic ½ marathon road race in all England. At such times I gaze at the friendly hills and tell myself this is where I belong, this is my stage, this is where I was born to be, this is where I perfom.

We were surrounded by tall, craggy monoliths many of which I'd climbed on, or raced over, in bygone years - such giants as Raven Crag, Pavey Ark, Pike o' Stickle, Harrison Stickle, Bowfell, Pike o' Blisco, Gimmer Crag and Lingmoor - names that read like a litany to dedicated mountaineers and fell runners. Conditions were absolutely ideal for running, cloudless skies, brilliant sunshine, clear views and just a hint of cooling breeze - but not quite matching the organiser's description as rivalling the Atacama desert for one of the driest places on the planet! Shortly before 12 noon nearly 550 runners crowded the narrow road for the start of the race, 385 of them in the ½ marathon, the brave remainder set to complete two circuits of the course for a full marathon. After a brief pep talk, which nobody heard, a whistle blew and we were on our way.

Having been officially named as 'the oldest runner ever to run this race' I settled into a steady pace near the rear of the field trying to establish a regular rhythm over the first flat mile. For many of the newcomers who didn't know the route the next ¾ mile of 1 in 3 ascent to the head of the Pass into Little Langdale came as a severe shock and generated one or two choice expletives! I alternated little runs with fast walks and made it to the top feeling reasonably fresh.

My wonderful partner finishing 1st LV60

Descending the other side I found myself running beside a man I vaguely recognized but didn't speak as we were both in the process of getting our second wind. The road here was pleasantly undulating and I was moving fairly easily, perhaps a little too easy, but I was very much aware of another challenging hill I'd sussed out the day before, one that went on for 1½ miles from Skelwith Bridge to High Close Youth Hostel, and also with a 1 in 3 gradient at the start. However, I'd tackled much nastier hills than this in my fell running days so, apart from the initial steep 50 metres or so, I managed to run the rest of it and emerged at the top feeling good and strong. All that was left now was a steep downhill mile and an undulating 2½ miles along the delectable Langdale valley. This area is one of the most popular in the Lake District so there was quite a lot of enthusiastic encouragement and support over those last miles. Such was this race's reputation that I'd felt a little nervous about running it, wondering how I'd cope with the 2,000ft or so of ascent en route, but I was still feeling strong as I switched into overtaking mode to move up the placings over the finishing stages. I wondered whether I'd taken it too easy at the beginning, whether I could have run it faster if I hadn't been frightened by the race's reputation? Maybe not, for if I'd pushed it earlier I'd probably be wilting towards the finish. I like to think I judged it just right!

The dynamic Longwood duo after the race

I crossed the Finish line feeling quite happy with my time of 2.01.56 - 213th of 385 finishers. My Garmin watch registered 2,888ft of ascent - but I don't believe it! My Anquet mapping system is perhaps nearer the mark with 2,276ft. One of my prizes, a book, accidentally got left on top of the car while the wine was being stowed safely away. So if anyone found it lying in the road somewhere in the Langdale valley, it's mine! Oh, and to crown a truly magnificent day my wonderful Longwood partner completed a memorable double as she duly romped home 1st LV60 in 2.23.35 - thus further boosting our stores of wine! It had been a very memorable day indeed when both of us were magically 'raised to more than we can be'.

N.B. The chap I vaguely recognized descending into Little Langdale was, as I thought, Andrew Edwards of BBC Radio Leeds whom I'd corresponded with in the past but never met. It's nice to put faces to names. We'd a brief chat at the Finish during which I was introduced to his attractive wife and a friend of theirs, Annette Fraser from 'flat as a pancake London', who'd tackled the hills bravely to clock a creditable 2.05.51. The long-legged Andrew in his trademark yellow shorts was just behind in 2.07.10.

Full results here:

Running high

2010-09-17T22:04:00.025+02:00

Eiger - the smoking mountain

Switzerland has not had the best of weather this summer, which was bad for the tourist trade, but it turned good for us at the beginning of September. Except for one night of heavy rain that continued until lunchtime the next day we enjoyed warm sunny days for forays into the high mountains of the Bernese Oberland. Farmers and shepherds were all busy cutting grass and there was a constant smell of new mown hay drying in the sun. But after sundown at 6.30pm it was bitterly cold, particularly at Kandersteg where we camped at 3,500ft above sea level.

Running the Eiger Trail

At Grindelwald we camped at the Eigernordwand site directly under the Eiger's towering and foreboding north wall. We ran the Eiger Trail again as far as the glacier, trundled down a rough path to the tourist trap of Kleine Scheidegg, then swept gloriously back downhill to Grindelwald. Four American paragliders came floating down from the Eiger under their multi-coloured canopies, skimming the tree-tops and landing on the trail ahead of us. "How the heck did you get up there" I asked. "We climbed up!" was their simple answer.

At the Bachalpsee

We walked a circular route from Bussalp to the top of the Faulhorn and back via Bachalpsee and the rocky trail through Feld and Uf Spitzen. Marmots shrieked at us, black butterflies danced about our path, Alpine Choughs jostled for scraps at the Faulhorn restaurant and Ravens cronked across the craggy heights. Back at Bussalp cows and their calves mingled with tourists queueing for the postbus.

Top of Mannlichen with Jungfrau behind

We couldn't understand why we'd never been up the Mannlichen before on the longest gondola cableway in Europe, possibly the world. It took half an hour to reach the 2,229m summit from which the views were truly breathtaking, particularly of the Eiger, Monch, Jungfrau and the Schilthorn with its panoramic revolving restaurant featured in the James Bond movie, On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Six handicapped people in motorised wheelchairs were racing towards the viewing area, one of them accompanied by a wee terrier determined to get there first. We haven't a clue how they got up there! We returned to Grindelwald by the Romanticaweg, a winding path through heather, juniper and tall pines where woodpeckers were feeding on the open cones. Grasshoppers rasped in the warm sunshine while Marmots proclaimed their territorial rights from the shadowy slopes of Tschuggan.

The Gallihorn

Kandersteg is a little higher than Grindelwald. It doesn't have the Eiger towering over it but is surrounded by a host of other tall mountains, First, Stand, Bunderspitz, Gallihorn, Bire, Blumlisalp, Frundenhorn and Doldenhorn, so its hours of sunshine are somewhat limited. Normally, while camping, I'm up making breakfast at first light but there's little incentive to do that when the temperature is down to zero and the flysheet is dripping with condensation. On the only wet and windy night some hungry animal, most likely a fox, put three small holes in the tent in its quest to get at our food. It failed.

Phallic rock tower on the Doldenhorn

The signpost at the start of the steep climb to the Doldenhorn hutte said '2 hours' but we did it in 1½, so reckoned we must be getting fitter. We climbed way beyond the hut to get good pictures of a snowclad Blumlisalp and the leaning phallic rock tower on the Doldenhorn ridge. A falcon flashed past in pursuit of some smaller bird until the two became one. Other birds, like large grouse with lighter bars on their wings, flushed from the scrubby scree ahead of us. But strangest of all was something we 'thought' was a large bird travelling at great speed parallel to a high cliff on our way down. As it sped past we realised it was making a peculiar humming noise and was in fact some kind of missile.

Signing the visitor's book on the Gallihorn

On a day of nasty gripes and diarrhoea, and after a certain amount of washing, we climbed the Gallihorn, an impressive looking 2,284m peak directly overshadowing the town of Kandersteg. Emerging from a very narrow and rocky woodland path onto a wider trail we were confronted by a large flock of sheep about to be herded down that very path we'd just vacated. Ahead were warnings of stonefalls and a diversionary path had been created. We ignored the diversion. A Marmot scurried to safety under a huge boulder. The path rose to an exposed grassy tongue where a signpost said 'Gallihorn 30 mins' but it took us but 20 to stride onto its summit. A cross had been erected alongside a huge cairn with a recess containing a visitors book. Cloud drifted around us, intermittently clearing to give magnificent views of the great cleft of the Gasterntal valley, with the Bahnhorn towering over it, and the frightening vertical drop down thousands of feet to the town below.

On the Alpschelehabel

Though somewhat reluctant, in view of continuing nasty squitters and not being able to sleep in fear of further spasms, we set off next day to climb the Bunderspitz, a 2,546m peak over which the sun said goodbye to us each evening. It was another gloriously sunny day so it was warm work toiling up its flanks. Two hunters crouched quietly behind a large boulder were presumably waiting for the appearance of Steinbok. Eight other people had beaten us to the summit, including two small children! Since last year a new cross has been erected at the summit so, of course, it had to be photographed. Returning, we traversed round by the Bunderschrinde, onto a lofty lookout called Alpschelehabel where we ate lunch, then descended to the valley floor by the Allmenalp cable car.

Running round the Daubensee

On our final day of activity we decided, in view of an impending half marathon in the Lake District, that it was time to do a serious high level run. We opted for a figure of eight route that included a circuit of the Daubensee, a lake who's surface is around the 2,224m contour. To start this 11 mile run we took the cable car to Sunnbuel (1,934m) and in ½ hour were passing a deserted Schwarenbach Berghotel where a French waiter bid us a hearty 'Bonjour'. In another ½ hour we were commencing our run round the Daubensee passing richly clad tourists, mostly Germans, invariably clicking along with a pair of trekking poles. I'll admit, I've never come to terms with trekking poles which, for the majority of people, are totally unnecessary and little more than a gimmick. At an exposed section a couple hanging onto a wire cable for support seemed quite shocked when I slid past them on sloping rocks without breaking stride! At that height it was bitterly cold so it was imperative, wearing only minimal running clothes, to keep moving. Pretty soon, the circuit of the lake was complete and we were heading back to Sunnbuel by a much less used, but longer, trail. We missed our scheduled cable car by a mere minute but luckily the sun was at its height, warming our bodies and drying sweaty clothes.

Bums and Blumlisalp

There were other things we did in Switzerland and other places we went. I haven't worked out how many thousands of feet we climbed but it must have been one heck of a lot, all in the most breathtaking scenery and mostly in warm sunshine. On reaching home my scales told me I'd shed 5lbs of blubber but whether this was due to much increased activity or problems with my plumbing I'm not sure. Probably a combination of both.
At current exchange rates it was a fairly expensive holiday but for outdoor enthusiasts who love the high places it's as good value for money as you'll get anywhere. Roll on next year!

August bank holiday

2010-09-01T10:04:00.003+02:00

Hebden from the crag

It's almost time for our Swiss holiday so this will be my last post for two or three weeks. On Thursday we're flying to Zurich then catching the train to Grindelwald where we'll camp in the shadow of the Eiger. Hopefully, weather permitting, we'll run the Eiger Trail again, climb a few mountains, refresh ourselves at some choice Alpine Club huts and enjoy all the wonderful country has to offer.

Knock down Ginger

But in the meantime we've been going through the motions of getting ourselves fit. During the August Bank Holiday another twenty four miles went into the running bank, four of them at sub seven minute mile pace, so the old legs are beginning to move a bit quicker again. Also, my running diary tells me I've clocked up 124 miles during August, an average of 4 miles per day, so hopefully some stamina should be coming back too.

The barbecue men

Hebden Sports took place on Monday but I was a mere spectator whilst my wonderful partner dispensed gallons of tea to thirsty spectators and competitors. This annual event attracts visitors from far and wide, amongst them an enormous number of children who have a whale of a time competing in the various novelty and fell races roared on by enthusiastic parents. There are games and side shows for parents too, and much local produce to be bought, but the highlight of the day, for me, is the senior fell race that takes place in the late afternoon. It's a mere 1½ miles, to the top of the crag and back, but involves a couple of high walls with deep drops on the landing side.

Climbing the crag

This race is a little beyond my septuagenarian capabilities but invariably I'm there taking photographs of runners toiling up to the white stone that marks the summit. This year I was given the job of counting competitors off the crag so I'd to concentrate a bit - not easy when plagued by millions of man-eating midges and trying to take pictures of specific people! When the last runner passed I couldn't get off the crag quick enough, beating them back to the field and clapping them across the finish line. Maybe I will do the race one day - if a couple of gaps can be conveniently arranged in those intimidating high walls!

Burnsall Feast Sports

2010-08-23T19:32:00.010+02:00

The Mummers (the one in the brown coat is a local GP)

The opening of Burnsall Feast Sports this year was much enlivened by the Penny Plain Theatre Company appearing in the guise of a rabble of down and out Victorian actors performing songs, dances, a hilarious Mummer's play and various bawdy sketches interacting with embarrassed members of the audience. The action took place under the shadow of a huge Wicker Man towering over the village green for the very first time at Burnsall Sports. The flag on the fell top that normally flutters over the proceedings had blown away during the morning's high winds!

The old acknowledging the ancient!

The wind was still gusting a bit as the 10 mile road race got under way at 2.30 but it was sunny too, perfect for racing. Having suffered a hacking cough since the Arncliffe race I'd called at the chemist in Grassington in the morning and asked Sue for the most potent cough medicine available. "I'm racing the Burnsall 10 in a few hours time" I told her, so the magic fluid hadn't much time to do its job!

With over 950ft of ascent the road race has more feet of ascent than the classic fell race which takes place a couple of hours later. It's uphill from the start but the worst bit hits you at 7¾ miles where it climbs 195ft in just over ½ mile to the village of Thorpe. Surprisingly, my old legs coped very well and I actually managed to gain a couple of places on that Thorpe section. I was 89th of 116 finishers in 87.36 which was a tad faster than I'd expected in view of my race rustiness this year. Bring on the Langdale ½ marathon!

Rob Hope winning the fell race

This years classic fell race over 1½ miles/900ft ascent marked the 100th anniversary of Ernest Dalzell's record breaking run when he completed the course in 12minutes 59.8 seconds. Special T-shirts had been printed to mark the occasion with a blank panel on the back for runners to record their own finishing time. Nearest to Dalzell's mark, but exactly one minute slower, was Pudsey and Bramley's Rob Hope with seven times winner Ian Holmes (Bingley) in 2nd and Ilkley Harrier Tom Adams in 3rd. Local lad Ted Mason of Wharfedale Harriers came home to enthusiastic applause in 4th place and had the pleasure of leading home the winning team.

A film crew were there throughout the day and it was rumoured the days proceedings were being filmed for an outdoor programme on Channel 4. At the traditional mass hymn singing a camera and microphone were hovering over my head as I croaked and coughed my way through 'Jesus shall Reign'. Sue's recommended cough mixture was apparently beginning to work.