......and days when I'd rather be home

      It's been a lean week as far as running is concerned. Leaden skies and bitterly cold gale force winds

From my window - the first snows arriving....

brought the first snows of winter sweeping across the valley. From the warmth of my study I watched the wuthering whiteness hurtling towards me, obliterating everything in its path, and decided it was time to turn up the central heating, make myself a bowl of warm soup, then go into semi-hibernation until this perishing cold front passes over and drowns itself in the North Sea.  It could be a long snooze....       

      

This is a path....

   My running diary contains just two entries for last week. The other five days are all zeros. Of those two runs, one was rubbish as I sloshed through waterlogged fields unable to find any purchase or momentum in the oozing quagmire. By the time I got onto Castle Hill, where there are reasonably good paths to run on, I felt too knackered and exhausted to raise enthusiasm for anything quicker. I jogged home after a miserable four miles, made a large mug of strong coffee, sat down and questioned my sanity.
       

      On Saturday we drove to the Dales in

Water, water, everywhere I run....

glorious sunshine with the thermometer registering 5ºC.  Good running weather, we thought. Unfortunately, by the time we'd lit the stove to warm the cottage, had a coffee and got changed, it had clouded over just as the forecast said it would, and by the time we'd jogged down to the riverbank it was spitting with rain. Undaunted we launched into our planned interval session which actually exceeded expectations. Quite by accident, of course. My 4 sets of (6 x 100m) somehow worked out at 31 x 100m - but I wasn't complaining. It doubled my mileage for the week and with a bit of quality there too.

     

My mind is fine, it's my body that says 'sod off'....

    Sunday teemed with rain and sleet from the word 'go'. The lane turned into a fast running torrent and little

lakes of water flooded the main road through the village. People trying to reach Hebden from Wensleydale were turned back at roads blocked with snow. A 150m journey as far as Chapel for our annual Methodist Covenant service was epic enough, sleet soaking my trouser bottoms, wind blowing my brolly inside out and water intent on leaking into my shoes. Even my Bible got wet and it seemed appropriate I should be reading from Jeremiah - the prophet of doom! But the Word failed to get watered down, our minister made sure of that, and I left Chapel refreshed in mind and spirit - though the bread and wine did little for my old body which refused to be spurred into any form of action but remained within spitting distance of the fire for the rest of the day. Come to think of it, I did twiddle my toes and stretch my legs occasionally, but that's hardly enough to cancel the zero in my diary.  Ah well, there's always next week....

Days when I'm glad I'm a runner.....

Hoping to be here next month - at around 8,000ft on La Palma

      In less than a month's time we'll be jetting off to La Palma, our favourite island in the Canaries group. In preparation for this I wasn't sure whether I should be winding down, so as to be rested and ready for anything - or ratcheting up to increase fitness for tackling those high and formidable volcanic peaks?  I decided the former would be most sensible because one thing's for sure, there'll be little rest when we get there. There never is!  So that's been my excuse for taking things easy this last week. Well, fairly easy.....
     

       I'll admit to getting a little carried away on a

Castle Hill - where I get carried away....

supposedly relaxed run over Castle Hill when the atmospheric views inspired me to stay aloft and do a few 100m reps. Six or eight was what I'd had in mind but after jogging home and plugging my all singing and dancing watch into the computer it told me I'd rather overshot the mark and finished up doing twenty three (19 of them @ 23secs, 3 @ 22 and 1 @ 24). It told me something else I didn't know - that my maximum heart rate is 160 bpm. Well, what it actually said is that 143 bpm is 89% of max, and 138 bpm is 86% of max - and I was clever enough to work out that 100% must equate to 160. Using a calculator, of course!
      

Village of Feizor - pretty, even without the sun...

      Inspired by a favourable forecast on Sunday we drove to Austwick, firstly to repeat a wonderful 5 mile run we'd done on Boxing Day, and secondly to visit my old friend Herbert who's recently out of hospital and test driving his new hips. "I've been for a walk" he said, "just round the supermarket". Booth's supermarket trolleys apparently make good zimmer frames but could be a bit awkward when it comes to climbing over stiles around Austwick.  In some ways I suspect he rather enjoyed his stay in hospital with all the Christmas time cameraderie in a mixed ward, though little chance of getting up to any mischief with new clickety hips. Not at coming up 89.....There was a slight lull to the joviality when a chap in the next bed stopped breathing and failed to get started again. But then, one must expect things like that in such places....
     

       We left him in good spirits and set off across soggy pastures to the hideaway hamlet of Feizor, hoping

After we left.....glorious sunshine towards High Bark House

on this occasion to get some decent clear photographs of the place as opposed to the foggy ones we took on Boxing Day. Guess what?  It clouded over again, the sun said goodbye and it began to drizzle as we approached, once again thwarting our intentions. Then, as we closed the gate behind us and headed away uphill towards High Bark, out popped the sun, laughing I suspect, to flood the landscape with an intense yellow light. Spit! - or something like that - how does it know?  In spite of the sun's contrariness, we really enjoyed our run, and a lazy drive home through glorious countryside.
      

Chimney...from lead smelting days on Grassington Moor

     I wasn't feeling too well yesterday, my back was playing up, again, and I was walking around bent like a banana. But the sun was shining and I just had to get out. After 600mg of Ibuprofen and 1,000mg of Paracetamol, washed down with my morning coffee, my wonderful partner went down to the riverbank for an interval session and I set off in the opposite direction to 'do my own thing'. "Depending on how I feel I may turn back before I get out of the village" I told her. "or, on the other hand, I could be gone a long time". It turned out to be the latter, and I was glad I did for days don't come much better.
      

      Blea Gill was my destination, across

Upon reflection.....

Grassington Moor, past the dams and all the newly planted trees on the slopes overlooking Grimwith reservoir. There wasn't a breath of wind to ripple the water, overhead the sky was a deep blue with just a few fluffy clouds riding low on distant horizons. Valleys were wreathed in mist, exceedingly atmospheric. so my camera was clicking away before I'd even run half a mile, and in such a gorgeous landscape I'm afraid my stops became more frequent than usual. 
'What is this life, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare'
So wrote W.H.Davies and I share his sentiments entirely - even when I'm supposed to be running!
    

Old Runningfox on Grassington Moor

     After eight miles, with a camera full of new pictures, I returned home a very happy man - luckily before my wonderful partner sent out a search party. I'd warned her I might be a long time but an hour and forty seven minutes was apparently stretching it a bit!  Anyway, never mind the time, what the heck did I do with those pain-killers?

I hate having to walk......

Old Runningfox - feeling OK after a shaky start to the week....

      Something wasn't quite right last week, but nothing I could really put my finger on.  Maybe it was some sort of bug, though I wasn't coughing, sneezing, running to the loo or showing any other symptoms of being unwell except my energy levels had plummeted to zero. (Mind you, I'd been stretched on an operating table two days before with a surgeon poking around inside me, so that could have had something to do with it). Whatever, at the very beginning of a four mile route, on the slightest of hills, I found myself having to walk. I carried on jogging and walking through squidgy fields and sodden lanes, to eventually arrive home soaked in sweat and totally drained after fifty minutes of dire unpleasantness. I hate having to walk....that's what hurt most.
      

      Within a three mile run next day I ran some short

Wonderful winter running weather, if you're wearing a buffalo jacket..

intervals by way of sharpening up, 4 x (6 x 100m @ 24secs) with two minutes rest between sets - this being a slight modification of a plan my wonderful partner started using after borrowing Julian Goater's 'The Art of Running Faster'. All went well, pacing them exactly right, though I'd to walk part way back up the hill into the village, much to my annoyance. I hate having to walk....or have I said that already?
      

Determined to keep running.....

      On Saturday I set off in a more positive frame of mind, determined to keep on running come what may. And I did - with the exception of two brief interludes, one to take a photograph for my blog and the other when a neighbour's wee dog wanted to say hello. I'd forgotten to take my HRM chest strap on commuting back to the Dales so I was concentrating on breathing as I set off through fields for an undulating 7 miles by Linton Falls, Thorpe, Burnsall and back home along the river. It was a beautiful sunny day, 37º with a cool breeze, perfect for running. Birds were singing as though it was Spring, and serenading me as I ran past their wooded haunts. They could be in for a shock as winter tightens its grip. My Garmin registered 6.90 miles/543ft ascent as I returned home after 86 minutes - which isn't too bad considering there are well over 30 stiles and gates to negotiate along the way.
      

      A white frost followed overnight rain and there was ice on the roads by Sunday morning.  After Church

Stone man on Grassington Moor

we set off together for a steady six miles round Appletreewick.  My wonderful partner wore a hat and Buffalo jacket to protect her from a 22º wind chill. Again, the birds thought it was wonderful - or maybe singing is their way of keeping warm in such conditions!  I envied the farmer sat in his warm tractor spreading muck across the meadow. In a big pasture by the river a car drove erratically back and forth, presumably someone learning to drive. Weekend walkers were out in force, courteously making way for us runners and holding gates open so we could pass through without stopping. Good weather breeds good manners.  After 71 invigorating minutes we were home to a warm stove and wrapping cold fingers round hot cups of tea.
      

A good hill for training....

      Yesterday (Monday) I really gave my old legs something to shout about, setting out on an ascent of 900ft to the top of Grassington Moor in 3¾ miles - non-stop. The sun disappeared behind a misty haze as I set off at a pace I was determined to maintain right up to the 'Stone Man' - a cairn at the very top of the climb - where I'd rest a couple of minutes to take pictures before returning down the long wall back into the ghyll.  I'd the whole moor to myself, I never saw another living soul, there was just me, a few startled grouse and the odd sheep as I plodded upwards on automatic pilot. The cairn was just below cloud level.  Mossy Mere shimmered in the distance but all other features faded into the mist. Miles away from all visible habitation it was incredibly lonely but exquisitely beautiful. I stood savouring the situation until a freezing wind told me I'd better start moving.  It was a pleasant run down the long wall, sheltered from that icy blast, back into the warmer confines of Hebden Ghyll, to return home a very happy runner having achieved what I set out to do - which was to run - all the way.
      I hate having to walk!

Happy New Year....

Tatties, haggis, neeps, wine, malt whisky - and an expanding girth

  Christmas and New Year festivities have taken their toll, as they do every year as a result of all the excess food, treats and booze I ram down my throat and fail to exercise away. I've kept on running but obviously not enough. And as pounds piled on, huffing and puffing increased until even moderate exercise felt more than a bit uncomfortabe. Before Christmas I weighed exactly 140 lbs with a body fat reading of 14.7%, visceral fat 7% and a BMI of 22.2.  By January 2nd those figures had inflated to 145 lbs, 18.3%, 8% and 23.2.  So I've got work to do in the next few weeks. 

     

Believe it or not, a footpath goes through here...

Another problem is that my decrepit old bones hate our increasingly bad weather, rain, gale force winds - and saturated countryside as in the field shown here. Bill Bowerman, co-founder of Nike, once famously said "There is no such thing as bad weather, only soft people" - but I'll wager he'd change his mind on becoming an 81 year old spectacle wearer. Or maybe he has..   In Munro-bagging days I've climbed through hell and high water, thick snow and raging blizzards that made companions physically sick with the required effort. Now, in my dotage, I'm a mainly fair weather stravaiger though I can still enjoy an exhilerating run in frost and snow.

      I've stopped making New Year resolutions,

New Great Grandson Elijah - and his running dog friend...

mainly because I've rarely managed to keep them. In fact, I can't ever remember keeping one. One thing I'm exceptionally good at is procrastinating and I've excelled myself lately. For the first time since I began running in 1986 I failed to reach 1,000 miles last year, clocking a measly 863. I did no track racing and failed to reach top spot in the British Rankings over any distance I ran. Best I could manage was 5th over 10K (with a slow 57.29 at Bentham) and a pathetic 13th at 5K which is best forgotten. The pity of it is, I've previously beaten most of those above me in the Rankings, so I clearly haven't been firing on all cylinders, mentally or physically. Maybe, with a total of 36,290 miles on the clock, I'm in need of a de-coke! Another significant happening in 2013 is that I acquired yet another Great Grandchild, Elijah, this one over in the States. I feel older with each one and I've lost count of the little beggars. Actually, come to think, some are quite big!

      

First run of 2014 - to Howgill and back...

      After late night Hogmanay indulgences January 1st was pretty much a none-day. The weather was vile anyway, giving a us good excuse to lounge around near a warm stove, and recover. On Jan 2nd we opened our 2014 account with a very pleasant eight mile/415ft run to Howgill and back along the river.  It was a gorgeous sunny day with hardly any breeze. The river was full and rattled noisily over the stones, conditions much enjoyed by a dozen or so kayakers shooting the rapids by Loup Scar.  I'm still running with a Heart Rate Monitor, trying to keep to an average of 130 bpm or below, so our pace was gentle and conversational.

      Today was different. While my wonderful partner was patrolling Barden Moor in her capacity as a National Park

Shooting the rapids....

Volunteer Ranger, I tootled up Castle Hill for an interval session - and found out just how unfit I've become. The plan was to run 16 x 200m @ 48secs but I was forever being harrassed by loose dogs necessitating a lot of waiting around until they'd moved on. It was 36ºF but in a cold SE wind it felt sub zero. And I'd forgotten my gloves. After 14 reps, when even more dogs arrived, I abandoned Castle Hill and did the last two reps on the way home - guesstimating the distance. Now then, before Christmas after a similar session, my HR reached 143bpm after each rep, then I'd walk until it got below 130, jog until it was below 120, then start my next rep. 

Low HR's indicate where I waited for dogs to vamoose...

    All very easy and controlled - but not so today.  Maximum HR after each rep was nearer 150 and on eight occasions I failed to get below 130 before starting the next rep. Waiting for dogs to clear out of the way enabled me to get as low as 112 on one or two occasions, so I suppose they really did me a favour. My average was 134 bpm which is too high for an old codger. Anyhow, it proved to me that carrying excess weight requires a lot more effort from the poor old heart and can't really be good for one. But I suppose everybody knows that, some just learn faster than others!
      Happy New Year !!!!!