Wild weather - and wild women.....

     

Not fit to turn a dog out....(Click to enlarge)

      It's been a wild week weatherwise but the old Runningfox appears to have survived it well to clock up 18 stormy miles! Temperatures have hovered around freezing, a nithering nor'westerly never dropped below 20mph and numbing showers of horizontal rain puckered my face to render me almost speechless. Taking the wind chill factor into consideration at 900ft I reckon I was stop/starting along in 20ºF. It was impossible to run in a straight line. The wind, from the left, was blowing my raised foot against the opposite leg, and sometimes behind it, like some playful puppy trying to trip me up. At my time of life I suppose I can count myself lucky I still regard this as fun, though my wonderful partner has other words for it!      

Strange goings on at breaking dawn.....

      On Sunday the wind had bated a little, but still a wee bit blowy as I plodded up the lamplit road to my beloved high point. Several cars had passed me and turned up the narrow road to Castle Hill car park, which I thought rather odd for a Sunday morning, and well before sunrise. Then I heard odd bursts of music blown on the wind and recall thinking "I wish they'd turn their bleedin' car radios down".  But as I reached the summit, there in the lee of the Tower was a motley gathering of musicians and dancers cavorting around celebrating the winter solstice. And the beginning of longer days.

      My run got somewhat interrupted. Close at hand the music was most acceptable and their dancing

I avoided mixing with this lot....

very entertaining. I ran around the hill a few times waiting for it to come light enough to take photographs. In Facebook the group describe themselves as : 'a mixed border morris side who like dancing, waving big sticks about and yelling. We sing as well. We were formed in 2006 and ages range from 9 to 69'. They call themselves 'Thieving Magpie'. In their strange black tasselled garb, hats with fairy lights, painted faces and armed with stout sticks they made a fascinating addition to that sombre landscape at breaking dawn. They can come again!

Yay, I'm back.....

Back in my elements......(Click to enlarge)

      OK, it was more than a wee cough. It's taken 16 days, a week of antibiotics and a week confined to barracks to shake the nasty bronchitis bug out of my system. At last, it appears to have gone and today, for the first time this month, I sneaked out before dawn to test the water. My alarm sounded at 7.10am and I awoke to half a gale battering the window. Regardless, I sensed a peculiar thrill at the prospect of running again, feeling the wind on my body and getting back into that wonderful rhythm. After a quick cup of coffee I stepped out into the darkness, clicked my Garmin and set off to face the elements. And the traffic.  I reckon most people in the neighbourhood set off to work between 7.30 and 7.45 for there was a constant stream of cars tail-gating along the mile of road to the Castle Hill turn-off, and in both directions. This minor road along Ashes Lane is narrow and so is the footpath. Some of the wider vehicles were almost brushing my sleeve, so I was much relieved to eventually turn away from the noise and blinding lights for the final steep climb into a traffic-free zone.

     

      I was back in my elements, breathing easily and relaxing into a steady rhythm I felt I could keep up for the rest of the

......and more atmospherics from my Study window

morning. A faint smudge of pink in the south east horizon was where the sun was rising behind a thick blanket of dark cloud. A stiff westerly gale was flapping my wind smock. If there was any birdsong it was drowned in the constant roar. Crows, or maybe they were rooks, were enjoying a game of flying into the wind, then being flung back like tousled bits of black rag. I wish I could do that!  Rabbits were conspicuous by their absence. Either they don't like wild weather or our local poacher had already worked the hill with his two whippets. I doubt the latter for I saw no-one. I'd the world to myself and boy, did it feel good after that enforced lay-off. After three circuits I descended, reluctantly, and headed for home feeling smug and invigorated. Old Runningfox is back in business......

A wee cough...and a week off

       "It jolly well serves you right" I imagine people are saying, "for going out running in that thick, nasty fog, not to mention all the toxic exhaust fumes from the endless procession of early morning commuters - and at your age".  Well, maybe, but very likely it was a bug I picked up while commuting on various buses and trains or, most likely, while sat among all the poorly people in my local surgery waiting for a flu jab ten days ago. Whichever, it's a vicious little bug that's given me a throat full of razor blades, a raucous uncontrollable cough and reduced my energy levels to almost zero. "Go and see your doctor" my wonderful partner shouted over the phone. "I'm not going out of this house, I'm staying where it's warm" I croaked back, "it will pass in its own good time. What's a few days out of a lifetime?"
    

      Given how almost every word was puntuated by a fit of coughing she got herself all worked up and issued an ultimatum. "Phone your doctor NOW for a home visit. I'll ring again in an hour and if you haven't phoned the doctor by then I'm coming over to sort things out".  Oh, for goodness sake, I don't want her anywhere near me in the state I'm in for fear of her catching it too, especially with Christmas just around the corner. In truth, when I'm ill I don't want anybody near me. But I was forced to submit and reluctantly rang my local surgery. The patient receptionist had difficulty determining who I was or what I was talking about amidst all the coughing but must have got the details right. The doctor arrived not long after I'd put the phone down.
   

       "Looks like you've picked up a nasty bronchitis bug somewhere along your travels" he affirmed after sounding my
chest back and front, "and you wont thank me for saying this, but I'd advise you not to even think about running until it's completely cleared up. Apart from anything else it wouldn't do your heart any good" he added. Huh, as if.......! He scribbled a prescription for a seven day course of antibiotics and tootled off - leaving me with a bit of a dilemma. The nearest chemist is ½ mile away and there was no-one around to pick up my prescription - except me. So I'd to muffle up, sneak out and cough my way across the fields, hoping my wonderful partner wouldn't phone while I was out and get even more upset if there was no answer. Women worry too much!
     

      In the meantime Christmas shopping has been suspended (though I've been surfing the 'net for ideas) so had plenty of time to print cards and address scores of envelopes. I'm certainly not looking forward to visiting the Post Office for sheets of expensive stamps and even wondered if I could get away with staying ill until the festive season is over. To kill more time I've been reduced to watching snooker on telly and came to the conclusion it's even more complicated than chess, though the Graeme Dotts, Ronnie O'Sullivans and Neil Robertsons of this world make it look so simple. I've decided to stick to running, although snooker, chess and suchlike games might be OK at times I can't move very far. Like when I'm ill.....

      No pretty pictures this week, just a few of the many quotes I read and roll around in my head at such times as this to stay positive...

November stats.....

Undulating 6 mile progression run profile (Click to enlarge)

I fell 10 miles short of a 100 mile target for November, but 90 miles still gives an average of 3 miles per day which is about par for the course nowadays. My average speed was 10:44 mins/mile which isn't very fast but looks slightly better when 7,657ft of ascent (around 85ft/mile) is added into the equation. This past week I've been experimenting with progression runs, i.e. starting off at a very comfortable pace (because the first 1½ miles is mainly uphill) and gradually getting faster each mile. Today, for example, my six miles were 11:49, 11:25, 10:15, 9:58, 10:14 and 8:44. A slight hiccup at the 5th mile was due to some nosey dog walkers interrupting my running to enquire what I was up to. They declined an invitation to join me, but their dog showed interest.

Castle car park in nasty fog....no wonder I've a sore throat

Until today the past week has been terrible with thick, cold, clammy fog restricting visibility to less than 25 metres. It was quite frightening running along the narrow road in early morning darkness with car and bus headlights materialising from the gloom too close for comfort. On Friday I almost collided with a girl runner coming from the opposite direction. On top of the hill was an eerie silence. Dog walkers were conspicuous by their absence so none of the usual shouting at recalcitrant pets. I'd the place to myself - which is how I like it. I'm a grumpy old so-and-so if truth be known, though if there were other octogenarians out running I'd maybe be more sociable. But I've yet to meet one. I guess many have thunk themselves into premature old age. They don't know what they're missing...

Goodbye to the sun.......

Sunrise in October - left of mast... (Click to enlarge)

      After an early morning jaunt today I was a bit taken aback by how quickly the sun is moving into the southern hemisphere. I'd stopped to take a running selfie - an excuse for a brief rest after the steep climb onto Castle Hill - just as the sun was peeping over the horizon. In less than two minutes I was on my way again, my breath condensing in the frosty air as I set off to complete my five mile circuit. It wasn't until I got home and put the picture onto my computer that I realised just how much the sun has moved south in the past month. In a picture taken mid October it was rising well to the left of Emley Moor transmitter at around 80º from north (see above). In todays picture (right) taken at 7:50 am it was rising an awful long way to the right of the mast, due south east at 125º.  By 3.30pm it had disappeared behind the hill having given us little more than 7½ hours of daylight. Sometimes I wish I could migrate with the swallows...
      My back to back house faces due north, so unless I venture outside I see nothing of the sun at all. And

....now look where it's rising, well to the right of TV mast

considering the moon is also rising in the south east and setting in the south west, I don't see much of that either (though I did see a sliver tonight when I went to the surgery for a flu jab). An item on the radio this morning was full of complaints from university students and other young girls about how dangerous it is to walk alone on the streets of our city at night. I wouldn't know; I'm a long way from the city centre and rarely go out after dark anyway. I haven't yet got around to running with a head torch in the early morning. I've thought about it but not sure what the local populace would think about me plodding through the fields or past their back gardens by starlight. It could be fun - if it wasn't for their dogs!

Burning bush(es) and grass, as sunrise sets the hill on fire

     Fields and lanes are becoming awfully puddly and muddy again. The cows have gone. I'm not sure where the farmer has put them. Maybe they've all been turned into steak, silverside, salmon cut or sausage meat! I miss my encounters with Charley, the chunky charolais bull, and his entourage, but not the hock deep mess they made in all the gateways, which is still there. Each time it rains it's transformed into a sea of sludge, so much so I've reluctantly changed my route for one that includes a bit more tarmac and a longish steep hill to start off with. On Sunday, to conclude a 21 mile week, I ran the first two miles on tarmac, then had to slosh back through slutchy slippery fields that weren't at all pleasant - and made worse by the worn out shoes I was wearing. I hope Father Christmas comes this year or I might have to join the barefoot brigade!

Two Churches.....

Yeah, I know, I've said this before....(Click to enlarge)

Last weeks fall in the Lake District left me as stiff and inflexible as an old board for the rest of the week. Ibuprofen was marvellous for killing the pain but little use as a lubricant. My wonderful partner often talks of a design fault in the human body, intimating that God should have created grease nipples over the main moving joints! I could certainly make use of some at the moment. I'm pathetic when I ease out of bed in the morning, forcing myself upright and holding onto the wall as I totter off to the bathroom. And the nodding donkey act, trying to put my socks on, particularly the right one, would make the devil laugh.Then of course, I've got to get down the stairs. Breakfast is sometimes late!

Path onto the moor by Coalgrove beck...

Hence, running has been a bit of a struggle, but I forced myself out on three occasions to chalk up another nineteen miles, if my maths are correct - a five, a six and an eight - though I've got to admit I was running out of steam on that longer one. It was foggy and a cold 6º as we ran up the ghyll through yet another guard of honour, hoping they'd see us and lower their guns until we were far enough away. Another shooting party were blasting away at pheasant and partridge in Blea Ghyll, so our run was accompanied by a constant sound of gunfire. We'd have preferred some peace and quiet. After 2½ miles we split to go our different routes.

 I was running well up to the high point at 1,500ft

Saturday....running well up to 1,500ft.....

but had to walk short sections on the way down. I'd bounded across Grassington Moor and over Bycliffe Hill at a fair rate of knots (for me) until I'd to stop and rebuild a little cairn that marks a place where I rejoin the track - or leave it, depending on which way I'm running. A short wooden post marked the place for long enough but each time I passed it had been pulled out and thrown away. So I hit on the idea of building a small cairn. Surely that wouldn't be intrusive? Surprise, surprise, the stones have been thrown away every time I've passed. The culprit, I suspect, is our local gamekeeper who, God forgive me, I'm beginning to hate. He's the one who's cleared the moor of everything but grouse, encouraged, I suppose, by his stinking rich employer who lives on the continent and doesn't give a toss for any other form of wildlife in our area. As long as there are sufficient grouse for his wealthy clientelle to blast from the sky three or four times a year, he's happy.

My wee cairn, It's not doing any harm, is it?

Maybe it was a head full of negative thoughts poisoning the system that disrupted my rhythm and reduced me to a walk on several occasions descending into the ghyll. Serves me right. Our friendlier local shooters had enjoyed a good morning judging by the number of pheasant hung by the brace over the sides of their vehicles. I'd have stolen one but all eyes were upon me as I ran the gauntlet of guns and dogs on the way back to the village. We're occasionally given a brace, dressed and oven ready, by way of a Christmas present - though a Colorectal Consultant I'd the misfortune to see on a couple of occasions recently strongly advised against such things, or any red meat, along with bread, all dairy products, anything with seeds in it and, worst of all, alcohol. Needless to say, we didn't quite see eye to eye.

                                                                                                                                                                 

Sunday...running the autumn riverbank...

Running is very much a spiritual pastime. Running can make you feel more alive; out on the open moor, in the  mountains, or any wild and lonely place, you become less of a person and more a part of the great scheme of things. The great outdoors becomes both a gym and a Church. Sacred thy body even as thy soul is the motto of a certain body building organisation - but running is also a great way of combining the two. On Sunday I sampled both and, for once, the great outdoors certainly came out best. In the morning we'd enjoyed a pleasant riverside run together among scintilating autumn colours with geese and goosanders for company, passed the time of day with other runners we met, and with only a soothing sound from the rippling river as opposed to all the gunshot the previous day.

Who's a silly goose then?

In the afternoon I was reading Psalm 51 for Rev Roger Fox, a Methodist minister and healer. For the uninitiated it's David's prayer for forgiveness after his adulterous affair with the beautiful Bathsheba. With much shouting that ensured 'the deaf shall hear' and some extravagant gesticulations to amplify his salient points Rev Fox left us in little doubt we were all sinners in one way or other - though not necessarily adulterers. I fully expected him making an altar call inviting each and every one of us to fall on our knees and beg forgiveness - just as David had. The funny part was, all of the congregation bar one are in our 70's and 80's. Or maybe it wasn't funny. I'm afraid if I'd to choose between any two similar events, the wild run would come out top. Grassington Moor on a balmy summers day, or in the freezing winter, is a very fine Church. Indeed, it really is God's country.

Ullswater jaunt....

Autumn view of Ullswater....(Click to enlarge)

     Running-wise, it was a leaner week than of late, with just 19 miles in the bank, but made up for it with some wonderful days walking in the Lake district over the weekend. We'd been invited by friends to stay at their luxury flat on the eastern side of Ullswater, between Pooley Bridge and Howtown, and arrived there around lunchtime on Saturday. After a quick snack there was sufficient daylight left for a six mile toddle round the southern end of Hallin Fell, over the bank to the shore path by Ullswater and on to Howtown pier. Unfortunately, I'd yet another painful fall on a slippery path by Martindale Church resulting in aches and pains to various parts of my anatomy that required mega doses of Ibuprofen to keep me moving. A planned five mile run on Sunday morning had to be substituted with a gentle two mile walk around Sharrow Cottages, Swarthbeck and Auterstone to ease the old joints back into action before running a slightly shortened route in the afternoon to the base of Hallin Fell and back.

      I spent the evening re-reading 'Feet in the Clouds' - Richard Askwith's inspiring book which he describes as a tale of

On reflection, we'd a short run on Sunday afternoon...

fell-running and obsession. If ever there was a tonic to counteract gloom and despondency, and get me firing on all cylinders again, this was the one I was looking for. Characters described in the book are credited with a masochistic disregard for danger and pain that verges on lunacy. What I'd suffered in that poxy little fall over in Martindale was nobbut a scratch compared to some of the accidents suffered by fell-runners on a more or less weekly basis. Some carried on running with broken bones, covered in blood and torn apart, but still got to the Finish before collapsing in a heap after giving it their all. Nearest I ever got to such heroics was running the last two miles of the Kentmere Horseshoe with a badly torn calf muscle to put the 2004 M70 Fell Running Championship beyond the reach of all my contemporaries. Since then I've become a bit of a wimp.

At the 'bridge of sighs' over Groove Gill...

Monday was forecast to be a cold, dry day but cloudy with very little in the way of sunshine. And so it turned out to be. Ideal for plodding up Fusedale and onto Pikeawassa without incurring too much of a sweat. Thanks to 600mg Ibuprofen before going to bed, to subdue any lingering aches or pains, I'd slept reasonably well so was able to match strides with my wonderful partner as she hared off along the bridleway to Mellguards to join the concrete farm track into lower Fusedale. She's not renowned for hanging about, as many of her regular U3A walking friends will vouch for, but speed doesn't prevent her from spotting any flora, fauna or points of interest that happen to be around. She pointed to a red deer stag and a pair of hinds on the ridge above us which my old myopic eyes would never have otherwise focussed upon.

      The steep, grassy path up Fusedale was muddy in parts and

Rest stop by the ruined building under Gowk Hill....

running with water. We stopped briefly at a bridge over Groove Gill at 1,250ft which over the years has become particularly meaningful to us. One of our favourite little spots in the Lake district. And I needed the rest! From there on, by a tumble-down building and on towards Brownthwaite Crag the rushy ground was particularly squelchy with some ankle deep areas that were difficult to avoid. Things improved as we followed a brackeny path to an awkward stile before striding upward to the turretted summit of Pikeawassa. Two well behaved Jack Russells, running free, totally ignored a herdwick sheep grazing by the path. And the Herdwick totally ignored them too. Funny how they know!
     
     

Old Runningfox on Steel Knotts above Ullswater...

A cold wind hit us as we reached the 1,360ft summit, ensuring we kept moving along the exposed ridge of Steel Knotts for a quick descent to Steel End and an easy walk along the road back to base. Pikeawassa is a grand hill with some wonderful views, east to High Street where we've had many a joyous run, south to the deer forest on The Nab where the annual rut is noisily elemental, west to the mighty Helvellyn range with its notorious Striding Edge, north west to those wonderful ridges of Blencathra and, down below, the vast expanse of Ullswater where Outward Bound school participants and yachtsmen spend many a happy hour ploughing through the water amid the most amazing scenery. As we reached the pier at Howtown a steamer, the Western Belle, was just leaving. A brief safety announcement floated across the water, followed by the words 'The bar is now open'. God, I could have murdered for a pint of cool lager! Next time, I thought, sod walking and running up those perishing hills. I'm going for a sail!

Ton up.....

     Having chalked up 100 miles for the first time this year, October turned out to be quite a good month runningwise. In fact, I ran quite a bit further than a hundred miles if all the fractions were taken into consideration - plus the warm-up sessions and 1200m I raced at the Yorkshire Veterans T&F Championships - which I haven't counted. From a total of 19 runs 15 were enjoyable early morning jaunts over and around Castle Hill, most of them at an easy pace with just a few fartlek sessions prior to the two track races. Each of those 15 runs included an average 468ft of ascent so I suppose that could count as hill training. The only other training I did, to use the term loosely, was two supposedly 'fast' miles by way of sharpening, though I'll never know how fast they were because I pressed the wrong buttons on my Garmin and didn't realise my mistake until I connected it to my computer! It must have been enough for it enabled me to top the British 800m Rankings and reach 2nd place in the 400m Rankings - which have got to be the highlights of the month, if not the year. Here is a break-down of my 15 Castle runs....
      

These times will be slow for most people - but look at those elevation gains....(Click to enlarge)

My wonderful partner, running up Hebden Ghyll....

      A 10 mile run round Mossdale on Saturday brought the week's total to 25 and was a cracking start to the month of November. A large shooting party up the ghyll, bagging pheasant and partridge, kindly held their fire and formed an impromptu guard of honour as my wonderful partner and I jogged by as fast as we could to avoid being sprayed with gunshot should their activities resume. After 2 miles we parted to go our different ways, she on a shorter seven mile route whilst I continued uphill to the high point at 1,540ft. The sky was darkening and a cold sou'westerly blew me up the hill. But it would be blowing full frontal as I dropped into Mossdale to turn for home - as it was doing already for some mountain bikers I passed, all of them togged up to their watering eyes.
      

      I'd to literally force myself down the rocky track into the valley against the wall of wind, but I was

....and Old Runningfox breasting the wind down into Mossdale

enjoying it in a masochistic sort of way. A dozen or so horses grazing a limestone pasture at 1,400ft were sensibly staying close to a sheltering wall - unlike some Aberdeen Angus yearlings that got a bit skittish as I divided the herd running through Kelber. By the time I reached Yarnbury I felt to be losing the battle, running out of energy and beginning to feel a wee bit knackered. Pace was slowing and my lungs weren't at all happy at being saturated with all that cold air. But hey ho, only two miles to go now, to the luxury of a refreshing shower, warm, dry clothes and a reviving mug of tea in front of a hot fire. Into the last mile and back in the ghyll I was thankfully out of the wind. Shooters had suspended activities for lunch and greeted me enthusiastically with waves and encouraging words as I passed through their ranks, belying the way I felt by trying to look good. It's amazing how we runners can put on the style when someone is watching. Or how we suddenly produce a burst of speed in the finishing stretch of a race when we've been almost on our knees a minute before.
       

Top of the British 800m Rankings, but was it worth the strain? Well, maybe.....

      So that was the week that was. 25 miles in four days of running bringing the month's total to a round 100. With maybe a couple or so bonus miles if we add up all those fractions, races, etc..  I can't honestly say I've enjoyed all of them, but my old body seems to reap the benefit of their cumulative effect. Running, to my mind, is the most natural of exercises, though not necessarily the easiest in later years. The trick is to listen to one's body and not go beyond the limits of what it tells you.

Pity about those three seconds...should have done some training

      Racing, as in those Track & Field Championships, is like telling the old body to sod off and mind its own business for a wee while. Following on straight after the 400m race that 800m hurt, really hurt. I came away from the meeting feeling like a befuddled zombie. I'd to keep moving. I daren't sit or stand still in fear of keeling over. I'd taken my body beyond its limits and in a quiet sort of way, which I fully understood, it was telling me of the dire consequences of repeating such things. I'll listen, for a while, until maybe once again I get the urge to show my contemporaries I'm still around, and I'm not done yet..

Making friends with rabbits.......

As if I'd any choice....on the road to Castle Hill (Click to enlarge)

      What I remember most about last week was the wind, particularly on Tuesday morning when the tail end of Hurricane Gonzalo came hurtling across Yorkshire at a great rate of knots. "You're a very brave man" one of the morning dog walkers shouted above the roar as he battled his way along the lane at low level. I was jogging home after a series of loops around the leeward end of Castle Hill. On the exposed side it was impossible to run a straight line along the path. I tried but was blown all over the place and decided that, fun though it might be, once was enough. It brought to mind an ascent to the CIC Hut on Ben Nevis along an icy path in a raging blizzard when, in spite of being weighed down with a heavy rucksack, the gale was constantly blowing me off my feet and smashing me to the ground. I arrived at the hut feeling like I'd fought ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. Another frighted soul sought shelter in the hut after his Force Ten tent had been ripped apart. Gonzalo was a summer breeze compared to that.
       The next two mornings were relatively calm but cloudy and cold with none of those fiery heart lifting sunrises to get me 

Fancy a race then mate?

Battling against the wind back o' Grim'ith.....

reaching for my camera. Dog walkers had either stayed low or stayed in bed. Resident rabbits were still unchased and stayed at their feeding grounds each time I passed. A kestrel hovering by the tower was hunting smaller prey and a buzzard mewing somewhere in the distance was too far away to cause alarm. I wondered whether rabbits are intelligent enough to distinguish between friends and enemies? Whether they've grown accustomed to the crazy figure who jogs past them on numerous circuits of the hill and no longer view him as a threat? I'd like to think so. Likewise with the beasties that graze the lower fields through which I run. Certainly the young calves aren't as skittish now, their mums just stand and stare and the old bull probably has other things on his mind.
      Each of those three morning sessions put a little over five miles in the bank - far enough for an old codger to run before breakfast with just a coffee and biscuit inside him. Two more runs at the weekend brought the weekly total to a fairly respectable 24 miles. Saturday's run was an exploratory 5 miles to Grassington bridge, and back, to determine what state field paths had deteriorated to after some persistent rain. The answer: a muddy mess, worse in fact than we'd ever seen them before. We wont be running that route again for quite some time. Probably not until Spring. Sunday's run was a flattish 4 mile circuit of Grimwith reservoir that nearly didn't happen.
     

Autumn tints where Blea beck flows into Grimwith...

       I'd returned home in the morning frozen to the marrow after our Chapel heating had failed. And whilst Communion elements of bread and wine might refresh the soul their combined calories raise the temperature of the body not the slightest fraction of a degree. So it was lunchtime, and several cups of coffee later, before I'd thawed out sufficiently to face those other elements of wind and water round the exposed shores of Grimwith reservoir. And oh boy, was it windy. Scudding sail-boarders were just a coloured blur on a picture I took of them. Sailing dinghies were constantly keeling over and it couldn't have been much fun dragging wet sails from the water, righting the boat and getting under way only for the process to be repeated again, and again. In the chill buffeting wind I was glad I was a runner and relatively dry, and even more glad when the day's run was over. Having put back the clocks, meaning summertime is officially over, it felt wonderful to enjoy a long relaxed evening by a warm fire with a glass of wine to hand and nothing more taxing than a crossword, codeword or good book to while away the hours.

As fit as me? Don't make me laugh.....

      After the stresses and strains of last week's Track & Field meeting I'd every intention of having an easy week

Thursday: Dawn run on a misty Castle Hill. (Click to enlarge)

to recuperate and unwind. It didn't quite work out that way. On three mornings, as the alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 6:30 in the morning, I was rolling out of bed, dragging on my running gear, having a strong cup of coffee and a Brunch Bar and out the door by 7am. As I jogged through the fields, in the dark, hoping the bull wouldn't suddenly materialize in front of me, my mind was harking back 28½ years, wondering whether I should thank or curse two Vibram Mountaineering Club mates who'd first suggested I join them in a local Fun Run. It was only five miles, a distance that required little or no effort at all for Munro-bagging mountaineers, but it became a bit competitive.

     

....and the view towards Emley Moor 15 minutes later

A certain amount of training was called for, if you could call it that, and knowing the Fun Run had a long steep hill at the three mile mark, where better for me to train than up and down Castle Hill. It worked and on the day I finished way ahead of my two rivals in a quite reasonable 38 minutes. Furthermore, about 80 places behind me was an athlete who ran the very first 4 minute mile. No, not Roger Bannister, he was the first sub 4 minute miler. It was our own Derek Ibbotson, a Longwood Harrier who ran some exceedingly fast times in his era. But his racing days were long past and in the Fun Run he was jogging round stretching his legs and enjoying the camerarderie. Nevertheless, I still regarded it as a feather in my cap having finished ahead of one of Huddersfield's great heros.

      My two mountaineering rivals have long since thrown away their running shoes in favour of more sedate

Same morning - holly berries brightening the lane on the run home

pursuits. But here am I plodding through muddy fields in the dark, before breakfast, in an assortment of weathers, risking life and limb running the gauntlet of lumbering bovine beasties and recalcitrant canine critters, or zig-zagging across moors full of menacing mine shafts in ankle deep bog and knee twisting tussocks - at 82 years old! Never mind that one of my growing list of Consultants that keep me ticking over recently said I might pass as a rough 50 year-old, I suffer the same aches, pains, piles and prostate problems as most other male octogenarians.

Friday:  an enjoyable 9 miles round Grassington Moor

I've a medicine cupboard stacked with pills, potions and pain killers to deal with almost every eventuality, most of them taken on a regular basis and, I must add, all of them legal. I've medications to counter side effects of other medications, pills that bung me up and lactulose to loosen me up again. Most of them are on prescription, some my doctor doesn't know about, and would perhaps groan if he did. But the thing is, they all contribute towards keeping me running, though on some days it might only be as far as the loo. So I've had to smile when numerous people in the past - all of them younger than me - have remarked "I wish I was as fit as you". In truth, most of them have the potential for achieving meaningful things in life, maybe not in running but in some other sport or pastime that necessitates getting off their backsides to exercise and exert a wee bit of energy. And you never know, after 25 years, or so, they might even start to enjoy it....

Success and failure......

Where I was today - but not in the Long Jump (Click to enlarge)

      In spite of being shaken by a heavy fall on our very first run in Menorca I later came to the conclusion I was running rather well and began to wish I'd entered the Yorkshire Veterans Track & Field Championships, scheduled to take place at Spenborough on September 28th. I'd missed the closing date for entries but wondered if I could run as a guest. I wasn't the least bothered about medals. All I wanted to know was where my times would feature in the British M80 rankings. Championship events have electronic timing, so all are perfectly legitimate. Not having raced for 15 months, and never having been anywhere near a track for over 2 years, I figured I'd be pretty low down the list.

      Running through the list of contacts on my iPad I came across the name of one of the main organisers of

Eric was there - supporting dad in the Hammer and mum in the 800m

the Championships, Tim Cock, and sent him an email from Menorca asking if I could enter as a guest on the day. "You're in luck" he replied, "we've had to postpone it until October 12th so I'll enter you in the Championship if you tell me which races you want to run. You can pay on the day". I replied asking him to enter me in the 200m, 400m and 800m, which he did. Later, and at my time of life I really should have known better, I decided to include the 1500m. Big, big mistake. I hate to admit that after the second race I was in no fit state to attempt the other two. My ego took a real bashing and could take some time to recover.

There were a few Internationals too....

      The problem was (excuses, excuses!) after running a reasonably good 400m in 90.57 I was called to the start of the 800m race just 10 minutes later which was insufficient time to get my breathing back under control. It was one race in which I was particularly anxious to clock a good time. Along with the marathon, 800m was always one of my specialities and I can't recall ever being beaten over that distance. So I was prepared to give it everything I'd got. I'd done my homework and noted that a Sevenoaks runner, Richard Pitcairn-Knowles, was top of the British rankings with his time of 3.53.57 - which I thought I could beat. R-P-K became my mantra as I set off round the first lap at a metronomic pace. At the bell the timekeeper shouted 1.47 which I calculated was nearly 10 seconds up on Richard's pace, but could I keep it going? The answer, I'm glad to say, was 'Yes' and I crossed the line in 3.34.39 to go top of the rankings. Richard will not be pleased!

A couple of 'Golds' for my efforts.....

  In truth, the reason I'd entered the 1500m was to displace Richard from the head of the rankings over that distance too. I'd reckoned on a good day his 7.56.9 should be well within my capabilities. I've recently been running miles faster than that, but I'm afraid after two hard races in quick succession I was in no fit state to attempt it, or the 200m, and decided to call it a day. As I've said, my ego got severely dented, though I'd a pleasant surprise when I got home and checked the M80 400m rankings. From nowhere at all I've jumped into 2nd place behind John Seymour of Southern Counties Vets who's a little under 3 seconds ahead of me with his time of 87.63. So that was a nice little bonus. I reckon those two results deserve a celebratory dram - each! But I'll need a couple of commiseratory drams too for my miserable failures. God, that's going to take some living down.....

Misty morning....

Breaking dawn.... (click to enlarge)

Rabbits playing 'Chicken'........

Here are a couple of pictures taken on last Tuesday's run. I'd awoke to thick mist and could hardly see across the lawn when I looked out the window at 6.25am. It was touch and go whether to change into running gear, or go back to bed. I was a teeny bit worried that running in all that moisture might affect my breathing, or harm my chest. It didn't take long to dismiss the negativity, pull on my shorts and vest, drink some coffee and get out the door into the eerie silence. Dawn was slowly breaking and before I'd run a mile I could actually see where I was planting my feet!

Trees and telegraph poles, cottages and cows,  brambles and barbed wire gradually materialized from the murk, though the sun was still tucked away in its blanket below the eastern horizon. One of two horses I pass each morning whinnied a welcome as I ran along the lane. A startled pheasant clattered off into the distance. Rooks had already decided it was breakfast time and cawed noisily across the fields. Rabbits played 'Chicken' on the path ahead of me, daring each other to be the last to run away as I approached. I could almost have kicked one of them. Still conscious of the effect heavy mist might have on my breathing I decided 4 miles was enough and was back home, stretched, towelled down and tucking into a well earned breakfast before 8am. I didn't see any other runners that morning......

More fartleking about.....

      The season of mist is well and truly upon us. This morning our local hills were shrouded in the stuff. It was

Misty morning.....(click to enlarge)

raining too with wind tearing at the trees, temperatures plummeting to single figures and rivers starting to rise. Time to turn on the central heating. Well, almost... "It's what us pensioners have to do to keep warm" I'd joked to a hooded figure I jogged past on Castle Hill last week. I doubt if he heard me for on each of the four times I past him he'd a phone clamped to his ear. His dog had deserted him and headed off in pursuit of rabbits, but he didn't appear to have noticed. And I couldn't help wondering who he could be having such a long conversation with while strolling alone on top of a freezing cold hill when it was barely daylight? Or whether his wife knew? Then again, he may well have been pondering why a bearded old git was prancing around in a pair of shorts in such a place at that unearthly hour......

     

Sunrise on Castle Hill - worth getting up early for....

I was fartleking, that's what, though it was quite unplanned. On Wednesday I'd set off for a steady three mile run before breakfast but became so entranced with the gorgeous sunrise, a hint of frost on the grass and the landscape lighting up as I ran, I'm afraid I got a bit carried away. Reaching a slight slope I started airplaning, picking up speed as I went, and careering along joyously for around 130m. It felt good, so I repeated it on the next circuit, and the next, and the next......  Between times I began accelerating along a 200m stretch I used for repetition runs in days gone by when training more seriously with races in mind. Without ever running eyeballs out I was enjoying the faster spurts in the sharp, frosty air. So much so that my planned three miles got stretched to 5.18. I didn't really want to go home.

      After breakfast I plugged my Garmin into the computer to record the run and was happy to learn that

Michaelmas daisies - autumn colour in the garden....

whilst the slowest 200m burst was a not to be sniffed at 6.50 pace, my fastest 130m run was an astonishing 5.22 pace (not that I always trust my Garmin!). Another point about the run was that at no time had I felt the need to walk - in spite of 420ft of ascent - and I'd finished feeling fresh. I repeated the run on Thursday morning but kept all the faster bits to what I considered a respectable 6.45 - 6.50 pace. And again on Friday morning, though I didn't get to bed until turned midnight after my computer crashed, all the icons disappeared from the desktop and emails disappeared into thin air never to be seen again. I managed to restore the icons but spent a stressed and sleepless night trying to figure out how to restore the errant emails. I never did.

     

On Grassington Moor - winding up for a fast mile....

Once upon a time Sunday's long runs stretched from 18 to 22 miles. Nowadays I seldom reach 10 and 6 has become more the norm. Because of the shorter distances I feel I ought to inject a bit more quality into them - which is why the 4th of 6 miles last weekend became a so-called magic mile. In truth, it wasn't very fast at all. I can still produce speed over short distances but I can't maintain it for very far. The wheels are still OK but the engine is getting a bit knackered! Anyway, whilst my wonderful partner was wandering around Barden Moor on National Park duty I decided to have another go over last weekend's route to try and improve that appalling time. I failed again - or I think I did. What actually happened was, I pressed the wrong button on my Garmin at the end of the fast(er) mile so I'll never know how long it took. I'd like to think it was about 4 minutes but I don't think anyone would believe that!

      All in all I clocked 26 miles last week, running all the way. Well, except to take a few photographs of those amazing sunrises.

It just dawned on me......

   After such a wonderful holiday in Menorca, bathed in glorious sunshine, bedazzled by scintillating

Sunrise by Emley Moor transmitting station.....(click to enlarge)

seascapes and bobbing white boats, the last ten days have been somewhat anti-climactic. Coming home to routine runs in old familiar places seems a teeny bit boring after the rocky trails around Alcaufar. Tripping over a rabbit on Castle Hill doesn't quite compare with the excitement of discovering a tortoise wandering across the path in the early dawn. My garden doesn't have the luxury of a pool to dive into when I get home from a run drenched with sweat in the 75º heat. Nor does it have the blazing bougainvilleas, oleanders or hibiscus to brighten my days. And the fact it's been raining almost every day in the Balearics since we came home is no consolation. It was beautiful whilst we were there and the memories are treasured.

   A little reluctantly last week I crept out of the house while most of the village was still in bed to ease the old legs back into some sort of running routine, though some lines of Shelley kept coming to mind (I can't remember which poem they're from):

....and I, I know not if to pray
still to be what I am, or yield and be
like all the other men I see...

In other words, whether to run or pack it in, but decided there is still some mileage left in the old dog (though probably not very much!) and until I find a new pipe and slippers under the Christmas tree I'll try to carry on running.

  

Autumn tints on Castle Hill side...

    While on holiday we ran every morning just as dawn was breaking, while it was still reasonably cool, though I'm not, or ever have been,

a morning person. Nor can I run on an empty stomach so I'll have a quick coffee and maybe half a cereal bar before venturing out to sniff the air. In a masochistic sort of way I came to enjoy those morning runs and decided to try some after I got home. Oddly, in the 36 years I've lived here, I've rarely seen the sun rise, mainly because my house faces due north. Last week I saw it four times - and have photographs to prove it. Furthermore, in spite of the early hour, I seemed to be running very easily so finished up turning some steady runs into fartlek sessions.

   I'd some urgent need for speed on one occasion when I came across a newborn calf lying on the path shielded by its

Bull fight - Big Daddy versus an heir presumptuous...

mum. Except mum had a raggy tuft hanging from its belly and a funny shaped little udder with no teats. It was in fact a proud dad who lowered his head and advanced towards me, a move that prompted a quick change of pace whilst simultaneously calculating if I could reach the next stile before this lumbering half ton of beef? Thankfully, he decided not to make a race of it. He'd done his duty and returned to the sleeping calf. However, I didn't hang around to get a picture of this unusual bull and calf scenario. When returning home, mum was back in charge and dad was fighting off an heir presumptuous.

  

Clifford in his heaven - salmon fishing on the Tay

Even at that early hour the dog walkers were out on Castle Hill, and a couple of runners came by as I was talking to the wife of an old friend of mine who lives on Castle Hill Side. I should say 'lived' because sadly, that very morning, he was being moved to a nearby Care Home suffering from severe dementia that his wife, or any untrained person for that matter, was able to cope with. Eight months older than me, he's always been an active outdoor person involved with hunting, shooting and fishing. I remember times when I'd return home to find a goose hanging in the porch, courtesy of Clifford. Or he'd open the boot of his car to reveal neat rows of Pink-footed and White-fronted geese and invite drinking mates at the old Castle Hill pub to 'take your pick'. Fond memories flowed through my mind as I jogged home. And some sad thoughts too...

   Each of those four dawn runs was a little over five miles, and very enjoyable they proved to be. Not so the fifth run after Church on Sunday. To finish the week I ran a six miler that included a so-called 'Magic mile' to assess my current state of fitness or, as it turned out, unfitness. I was so disillusioned with the readings on my watch I wouldn't repeat them to anyone, not even my wonderful partner. I tried another fast run and that was even worse. Shelley's lines came back to me yet again. Maybe it is time for that new pipe and slippers after all....