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.