We woz lucky....

      All our camping gear was packed ready for spending a weekend at Wold Farm, near Flamborough, on

Content in our cosy corner - our first camp of the year...

Yorkshire's east coast, but a last minute check on the internet revealed the site wasn't open until Monday - the day after the weekend. An email to the site owner, asking if we could come anyway, failed to get a reply. We assumed that meant 'No'.  Instead, we opted for a favourite site in the Lake District and were jolly thankful we did. The weather on the east coast turned out to be cold, grey and grizzly whereas Langdale languished under warm, sunny skies when the temperature rose to a balmy 19ºC. The Langdale site is also a working farm, so we shared it with sheep, geese, hens - and cockerels competing for which could crow loudest. As regards pitches, we were somewhat spoilt for choice. It's hard to make up your mind when you're the only ones there and, like the hens, have free range.  We opted for a sheltered corner we judged would likely catch the most sunshine - morning and evening - pitched the tent, filled our water bottles, got out the chairs and settled down for a brew. We'd arrived.
      

Racing my shadow under that craggy fell.......

     In truth, we didn't do very much, but probably a little more than I should have done given how I'd undergone a fairly serious operation less than two weeks before (nurse's opinion, though not necessarily mine). However, it wasn't long before a craggy fell towering into the boundless blue lured us from our chairs and had us tramping upwards towards its cairn and Trig point at well over a thousand feet. A family group with a couple of energetic children were rooted at the summit. Naturally, the kids wanted to play but every time they set foot away from their parents they got shouted at.  We didn't stay long!  By 11.30 we were eating lunch and wondering what to do in the afternoon.  We never go anywhere we can't run. Cornwall and the Canary Islands are our warm weather training camps whereas places like Switzerland, Scotland and the Lake district are used for hillwork, for putting strength and stamina into our legs. Or that's the plan.  On this occasion I chickened out of hill running being more in favour of a flatter circuit around the tarn adjacent to the campsite. And very enjoyable it was too. Wrapped in hills, serenaded with intermittent birdsong on a daffodil dotted trail with Canada geese bugling their welcomes beside the sparkling water proved a real tonic that transported me miles away from the smell of hospital wards.  It's good to be a runner.
     

       Sunday proved a classic example of Rabbie Burns' lines - The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang

Angle Tarn, and a wee bit of snow on the hills....

aft a-gley - and they sure did.  I'd foolishly set my heart on climbing England's highest mountain - Scafell Pike - but in my weakened decrepit state failed miserably. Nevertheless, it felt good to be back in high and lonely places with wheatears, meadow pipits and skylarks for company as we toiled up the much refurbished Rossett Ghyll. Conservation workers have done a first class job of making the rocky path more amenable to the trekking hoards. Amazingly, of the many thousands of interlocking stones that form the trail I never came across one that was loose, tilted or rocked about. After 1,700ft of climbing I'll admit to feeling pretty knackered by the time we reached Angle Tarn, so was soon rooting around in my befuddled brain for a Plan B - or maybe C.  There was no way I was going to make it to Scafell Pike. We eventually decided on a route considered the easiest option, viz. traversing round the back of Rossett Pike and descending by Stakes Pass back to the valley floor. It was a good choice because that path too had undergone much conservation work making for a faster descent than we'd anticipated, down to the bridge over the river where we stopped for a bite to eat and a belated swig of juice.
      

Back down, crossing the river below Stake Pass...

     A runner jogged past and spoke briefly, making me a little envious, until he dropped to the ground a few hundred yards beyond us and failed to get up. We watched for a while but he stayed sat down until I became a little worried. After a while, some walkers passed him by and had a quick word to ask if he was alright. He assured them he was and was just changing into something warmer before proceeding on his way. Well, it was sure taking him a long time. One of the walkers said "He didn't look like a proper fell runner". I'm not sure how he came to that conclusion but funnily enough, I'd thought the same thing. "He was far too polite to be a fell runner" I'd said to my wonderful partner!  We left Him. I hope he was OK. Back at the Old Dungeon Ghyll car parking area I was a bit embarrassed when two gentlemen addressed me by name while I'd no recollection of ever seeing either of them before. They knew me because they live in the same town as me and both members of the same athletic club as me, Longwood Harriers, and were familiar with my exploits. Even when they told me their names I'd to shamefully admit I'd never heard of them.  I hate getting in those situations when people seem to know all about me and I'm clueless about them.
     

   

Lakeland icons - Pike o' Stickle and a Herdwick sheep...

  In spite of an early departure to avoid traffic the journey home was very much a stop/start affair, and very annoying it proved to be. Miles and miles of highway had been coned off, and a 30mph limit imposed, when nothing at all was going on in the way of work, nor any hint of work ever having begun. Nearer home there was another mile long queue of traffic at a set of traffic lights where again, nothing was apparent in the way of work.  Maybe they're just practicing, getting ready for the usual holiday disruption. After all, it's not very long to Easter.....   

       Instructions given to me by nurse on leaving hospital was to drink a glass of water every hour to flush the system, something I'd very much neglected to do while sweating around the hills all day with just a half litre of electrolyte juice in my sack - which I hardly touched.  I reckoned that was a perfectly good reason to visit our local hostelry in the evening to restore the status quo with some of the best water I've ever tasted. It's refinement is due to the expertise of a certain gentleman called Timothy Taylor who has a processing plant somewhere in Keighley.  I'm not sure what he does to it but it's much nicer than the ordinary insipid stuff and slips down the throat much easier. Before, during and after a delectable roast beef dinner I reckon I made up for around eight hours worth of missing fluid. I'm sure nurse would be very pleased with that......

Rehabilitation.......

Returning from a three mile run in the sun today..........

     I take back what I posted last week, implying I wasn't going to be running for quite some time.  My hospital sojourn wasn't as traumatic as I'd been led to believe it would be, thanks to the expertise of the Consultant Surgeon (Mr Nicolas Bryan) and reassuring skills of the anaesthetist (Dr Keith Judkins).  It was an operation they might normally have been reluctant to perform on someone of my age but according to Mr Bryan I've the body of someone thirty years younger. I hope that means I'll live up to thirty years longer!  Drips and catheters were all out at the end of the second night, the old man was out of bed, stomping up and down the corridor, ready to be taken home - all inside 48 hours. My parting 'million dollar question' to Mr Bryan, an hour before discharge, was "When will I be able to start running again?" The answer I was expecting was 'in 4 to 6 weeks' so was pretty flabbergasted when he said "As soon as ever you like, but take it easy for the next 24 hours or so". To err on the safe side I gave it 27.  I'm lucky in being able to step out of the door straight into a wide open field with a good sandy path along two sides of it and well trodden turf (by dog walkers) at the other two sides.  And that's where I ran for the first three days after my discharge - four circuits on Friday, six Saturday and eleven Sunday.

.......and a bumble bee enjoying the sun too

      I've been wearing anti-embolism (compression) stockings and told not to remove them for any longer than 15 minutes (long enough for a shower) until reaching my normal level of mobility. Dunno whether they think I might be susceptible to DVT but they even gave me a spare pair to bring home (and the nurse rang yesterday to check I was doing as I was told). I'm afraid they came off for a little longer today. The sun was shining, it was warm and I wanted to wear shorts without the embarrassment of being seen running around in long white stockings. I'm no Juantorena! Instead of circuits round the adjacent field I set off towards the village and turned into the cemetery for a few laps and zig-zags among the sleeping residents. It's reasonably flat so I could breathe easily while hardly breaking into a sweat. It was difficult limiting myself to three miles on such a gorgeous day but stopped my watch on the dot after 33 enjoyable minutes. Nothing special, but quite a bonus considering I wasn't expecting to be running at all for another month or so.
       I've decided that deserves a glass of wine....

Blackthorn winter.....

Wednesday, bright blossom and blue sky on Castle Hill..

       It seems likely my actual running activities are going to be put on hold for several weeks but if I can think of anything running related that might be of interest I'll try to keep my blog active and updated. Though I've been mainly winding down, relaxing, putting my brain into neutral, I managed three enjoyable runs last week amounting to a healthy 19 miles. The first two, a six and a five, were run in warm Spring sunshine and it felt really good to be running in shorts and vest again. The third, an eight miler on Sunday, was totally different. The dreaded blackthorn winter had set in.  We'd awakened to blue sky, a few fluffy clouds and a gentle breeze twangling the wind chimes below our window. Gulls and geese were already about their business and having a few arguments by the sound of them. By breakfast time the breeze had become a jostling wind, the sun went back to bed under a thick blanket of cloud, mercury dropped and barometers heralded the return of low pressure. After jogging round the village delivering Parish newsletters my wonderful partner was glad to get back to a hot shower and reviving mug of coffee. 

       Realising it would be my last run for quite some time I forced myself into running gear, pressed the Start button on my Garmin

Blackthorn - harbinger of cold weather....

and set off up the ghyll with no idea where I was heading. I just kept going.  I'd been advised to stay low but felt I needed something more challenging - and I certainly got it!  Some first early primroses peeped from their bright green foliage to cheer me up the lower part of the ghyll. At Hole Bottom new born lambs were staggering after their mums on wobbly legs. At Cupola Corner a skylark was in full song as it soared higher and higher, regardless of wind that had reached gale force away from the confines of the ghyll. I was lucky at that stage, the blast was behind me as I jogged onto the open moor, though it froze the back of my neck.   My brain was on automatic pilot, my senses acutely attuned to everything around me. Golden plovers piped their plantive notes, staking claims to prospective breeding plots. Startled grouse flew low to more substantial cover. And all the time the wind grew stronger and colder. On turning uphill following a faint sheep trod it struck me full frontal.  My eyes watered and I struggled to maintain any forward momentum towards an unnamed pothole I use as a marker at around 1,500ft on Bycliffe Hill. My chest felt it had a block of ice inside it, my bare legs were tingling cold but, strangely, I felt incredibly exhilarated having reached a real high - in more ways than one.

Sunday, all doom and gloom looking back down Grassington Moor.....

     Photographs were out of focus because I couldn't hold the camera still! Also, my camera has an aversion to really cold weather and refuses to open up. I gave up trying. At the Stone man I could hardly stand up but lingered a couple of minutes, savouring the experience. From there it was a bare couple of hundred metres downhill to the lee of a long wall leading to less windy conditions in the ghyll. As my body warmed up again my stride became more fluent and over the last three miles my feet hardly touched the ground, or so it felt. Quite unexpectedly I returned home a very happy runner indeed, refreshed and invigorated, as if my old body had undergone a thorough Spring clean. No records were broken. It was all about enjoyment....
       Later, in Church that afternoon, our minister referred to a passage from Genesis I'd just read for her, when God told Abram "to go to a land I will show you".   "I wonder if Gordon on some of his runs ever gets to places he hadn't intended to go?" she pondered.
       Funny she should say that!

Spring.....

      Replacing my ancient Nokia PAYG cellphone (that cost me all of £10 a year to run) with the latest state

Spring lambs....

of the art Moto G was probably not a good idea. I love the look of my new toy, and I like the feel of it, but when it it comes down to more practical matters, such as actually using it, I'm pretty clueless. It has a mind of its own and its little electronic chip performs considerably faster than my much bigger brain. And it does things I don't want it to do - like downloading a few thousand pictures from Picasa and clogging up most of its storage space. I spent a mainly sleepless night figuring out how to get rid of them.  After successfully solving that problem I decided it might be a good idea to dispense with many of the old 9,000+ pictures stored in Picasa, my picture editing programme, to free up space on my computer hard drive. Unfortunately, I found out rather belatedly that deleting pictures from Picasa also deleted pictures from my blog - including a page wide banner at the top and the little Runningfox above my profile. My blog was in tatters with an awful lot of empty spaces. But, surprise surprise, those latter two pictures and one or two others turned up once more in the bowels of my new iphone so I was able to replace them. I spent an awful lot of time repairing the damage but afraid I ran out of patience so many previous postings will be permanently without pictures. Lesson learnt.....

Spring smile - at the Stone Man....

     In the meantime Spring has sprung. Snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils have brought gardens back to life. Curlews are calling again up on the moor, lapwings are performing their crazy aerial dances over prospective nest sites, frogs are spawning noisily in scattered ponds, new born lambs are suckling their mums in sunny pastures, coltsfoot and celandines are flowering in the ghyll and a mistle thrush in the top branches of an elm couldn't contain his joy.  For the first time in weeks we've slept with the bedroom window open to be awakened by pre-dawn birdsong, a skein of geese bugling across the moonlit sky and a cock pheasant calling from a garden up the lane. A good start to the day.  And for the first time in Britain this year I've been running in shorts, though it was a little chilly at 1,500ft by the Stone Man on Grassington Moor where my wonderful partner was still togged up for the north pole. Either way, it felt good to be there, breathing that reviving uncontaminated air.
      Our lonely 7½ mile run on Saturday was followed by a 6½ mile jaunt around Fewston and

Spring in my step - at Fewston reservoir.....

Swinsty reservoirs on Sunday where, by contrast, the world and his wife were out to enjoy the blossoming Spring. The parking lot was full to capacity so we'd to wait until someone drove away and vacated a space. Runners were out in force, some more serious ones doing two laps of the 6½ mile circuit. Whole families with children, prams and dogs strolled leisurely around, enjoying the warm sunshine, while mountain bikers drove far too fast and were a bit of a menace on the narrow path. We made mental notes never to run there again at weekends!  Runningwise, that was my week, just two runs and fourteen miles/1,560ft ascent. Better than nothing, I suppose......

Ups and downs.....

Stormy arrival at Los Cancajos....

     We didn't have the smoothest of starts to our La Palma holiday - though all ended well. After losing time with a slight navigational faux pas in darkness on our way to the airport parking lot, the automatic number plate recognition device was still asleep and incapable of lifting the barrier to allow us in.  Luckily, a lady's voice inside a metal box with buttons and flashing lights gave alternative means of gaining access so we were soon prowling round looking for an empty space among the thousands of occupied slots. We eventually found one and were soon aboard the shuttle bus bound for Terminal 2.  Our take-off was a bit behind schedule, then further delayed by 100mph headwinds on the flight south, so we arrived a little late.
      

      At Taburiente Playa in Los Cancajos we were allotted room number 438 which, we discovered, was

Hotel verandah awash with rain...

north facing and never got the faintest glimmer of sunlight. We were having none of that and were back down in Reception within minutes demanding a change. After a none too friendly exchange of words we were given room number 413 facing south and overlooking the swimming pools. Next morning we'd thunder and lightning with lashing rain and gale force wind that threatened to tear out surrounding trees by their roots. Our local Tourist Information Office, five minutes walk away, warned of severe weather with strong winds, snow on hills, and consequent closure of all high level footpaths.
      

Waves and white horses...

     Things improved a little next day with warm sunshine between showers, but still a raging wind that had an army of white horses galloping across the sea. Waves crashed against the rocks sending rainbow spray high into the air and flooding the promenade. High hills were indeed covered with snow but wild conditions made our morning run all the more spectacular and exhilerating. Our holiday had officially begun.....albeit a couple of days late.  So what were the highlights?
      

       PICO BEJENADO.  We set off to walk/jog

Mount Teide, miles away on Tenerife....

the classic Volcano Route, regarded by many as the finest day's walk in all the Canary Islands, but we alighted from the bus by the National Park Visitor Centre to see the whole of the Cumbrae Nueva ridge swathed in thick cloud. To the north Pico Bejenado's lofty tree-clad summit basked in glorious sunshine with nary a cloud to be seen. So, instead of making for El Pilar we climbed into a taxi and instructed the driver to head for El Barrial at the end of the tarmac road where a long trail begins its upward journey through a forest of Canary Pines to the 6,082ft summit. Out of the wind it was warm work but we made fast progress in lightweight gear - shorts, T-shirt and trail shoes - so we'd reached the summit cairn before noon.. Patches of snow still lingered on the rocky path whilst over on Tenerife Mount Teide, highest mountain in Spain, rose shining white above a sea of cloud.
      

Happy couple on summit of Pico Bejenado...note that sky.

      In spite of warm sunshine the local lizard population probably still regarded it as winter and were conspicuous by their absense. In summertime they're foraging for titbits around our feet and even probing into our rucksacks. Last year's friendly raven was missing too. It would perch at arms length and take food from our fingers. All we saw this time were two small brown birds we couldn't identify. We spent half an hour or so on the summit, enjoying the incredible views and breathing the clear air while eating lunch. There's a Visitors book in a metal box at the cairn but some thoughtless person had left the lid off and it had more or less disintegrated. A steady stream of walkers, mostly Germans, joined us at the cairn. Time to depart. It was a long walk back to the Visitor Centre where we'd catch a bus back.
      

       THE VOLCANO ROUTE.  Our alarm woke us at 06.30 so we'd breakfasted and quickly on our way

Standing by the Hoyo Negra, literally the black hole...

to catch the 08.00 Los Llanos bus as far as the National Park Visitor Centre. From there we climbed straight into a taxi bound for Refugio El Pilar, the start of our day's activities. The Sunflower Guide advises walkers to be well equipped with hiking boots, sun hat, sun glasses, sun cream, rain gear, warm cardigan, anorak, picnic and plenty of water. I was in my usual lightweight trail gear and never drank a drop of water throughout the 12 miles and 1,600ft of ascent, not until I got back to the hotel some six hours later.  I'll confess to sucking a couple of Polo mints en route but saved a muesli bar until the finish, before boarding the bus in Fuencaliente back to Cancajos. Having walked/jogged the Volcano Route four times previously it holds no fears for either of us. We've done much harder things on coast to coast jaunts over Scottish mountains.
      

Our begging friends, the ravens at Vulcan Deseada...

    We'd the trail pretty much to ourselves for the first three to four miles. A couple who got out of a taxi at the same time as us, and a couple of heavily laden girls who'd probably spent a night in the Refuge, were soon behind us as we strolled uphill through the pines. There'd been a slight frost overnight, there was a nip in the air and the trail was crunchy underfoot. We crossed a wooden bridge and climbed out of the pines into an almost bare, but colourful, volcanic landscape. An impressive black crater, the Hoyo Negra, was well named and maybe it was coincidence that two great black birds, ravens, landed on the path beside us to say hello and pose for photographs. In reality, I suppose they were begging for food!
      

      The steepest part of the route was a sandy, slippery climb onto Pico Deseada which seemed longer than

The lighter coloured dwarf pines...

on previous occasions. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. We paused at the trig point to take photographs of the crater where, lo and behold, the friendly ravens flew down again and strutted in front of our cameras, determined to get in the picture. Leaving Deseada we could jog down the sandy slope, to where a minor path crosses our main highway, the GR 131. A runner caught up with us and showed us a water tap in a rock wall about 25m to our right that ran icy cold for anyone needing refreshment. That was new to us. Soon we were back into the pines, a low growing wonderfully light green variety dotting the landscape towards brightly coloured Vulcan St Martin.
      

      We detoured off the main trail onto the rim of the volcano to peer into its depths and photograph the striking colours before continuing on our way. We were well ahead of schedule for our 2 o'clock bus so had time to linger, revellimg in all the magic and mystery of that incredible ancient landscape. More runners past us, a group of three

Runners emerging from the misty forest...

who moved sure footedly across the rocky, uneven terrain. Most likely they were familiarising themselves with parts of the 53 mile long Transvulcania race that takes place every May and attracts top sky runners from all over the world. If only I'd my time to come over again! In younger years I'd never heard of such things. The Three Peaks of Yorkshire (24 miles/4,500ft ascent) was the only long distance event I knew of - and I couldn't wait to take part in it when I started running at the tender age of 54. It was an easy jog/walk through mist enshrouded forest to the tarmac streets of Fuencaliente and the end of another little adventure.
      

      ROQUE DE LOS MUCHACHOS TO MIRADOR EL TIME.  There was some slight indecision

Excited in the clear air at 8,000ft, but had to don a fleece.....

before embarking on this route. After an early breakfast we stuck our noses out to sniff the air and gauge the weather. It didn't look good. Thick clag, poor visibility and a stiff wind didn't bode well for a walk starting at almost 8,000ft with the prospect of snow on all high level trails. I disappeared into the loo telling my wonderful partner "I'll meditate on it". Five minutes later I re-appeared and said "Let's go" before shouldering our tiny rucksacks and ordering a taxi for 8am. It arrived, spot on time, though the driver could hardly believe that the couple stood outside dressed in shorts and carrying a minimum of gear were actually going to attempt such a high level route that wasn't even in our guide book.
     

Snow, cloud and telescopes....

     "Where are your trekking poles?" he inquired. "We don't use poles, we're runners" I explained, though in actual fact we hardly broke into a trot all day. We got stuck in a traffic jam at road works approaching Santa Cruz as the meter ticked over at a seemingly great rate of knots, racking up the Euros. We escaped and zoomed uphill rapidly round the myriad hairpin bends following four carloads of workers who reputedly make this nightmare journey every day to operate and service the huge telescopes at the Observatories. It rained, windscreen wipers were turned on and as we rose higher into the cold air our windows steamed up.  Then, all at once, we experienced a magical cloud inversion that even got our taxi driver excited and animated. We cringed as he turned to us with one hand on the wheel and pointed out different things of interest - mainly Mount Teide which he pronounced tay ee day. Snow was piled by the roadside and icicles hung from the rocks. The air was crystal clear (which is why all those telescopes are mounted up there) with not the faintest trace of mist or haze under a deep blue sky.
     

      The driver got out of his car with us to gaze for a wee while at the incredible sights - seeming as

Setting off down the snowy trail to Mirador El Time....

gobsmacked as we were. At 9.10am it was freezing cold and my wonderful partner feared we might suffer discomfort all the way down - a drop of over 6,000ft to the fleshpots of El Time - so was anxious to get under way pretty smartish. Snow lingered on the trail, making it understandable why our driver had questioned us about trekking poles, but there was nothing we ever considered dangerous or difficult to cope with. And as we dropped down the ridge the wind eased and warm sunshine made walking very pleasurable indeed as never ending exciting panoramas unfolded before us.
      

Pico Bejenado in a sea of cloud across the Caldera Taburiente....

     For me, this route far outshines the more popular Volcano route, though after walking the latter five times it's probably getting a wee bit boring... This one maintains interest all the way down, even on the steep and uneven rocky path over the latter stages where some astute balancing is required to remain upright. It didn't always work (!) but we finished unscathed. There are fantastic views into the cloudy depths of the Caldera while Pico Bejenado towers across the mile deep crater enticing photographers to take endless pictures. On a steeper, gravelly part of the path a German lady strode easily upwards in bare feet, carrying her boots. "It's good" she said, "It's nice". I couldn't have agreed less!
      

      After terraced vineyards and trees ladened with almond blossom we arrived somewhat wearily at

Down the rocky path where balance is required...

Mirador El Time after nearly six hours on the trail and deposited ourselves on the kerb to flag down the 4 o'clock bus. It connected with the 4.30 bus in Los Llanos for the journey back to our hotel. For me, this had been the walk that made all else seem anti-climax. It was time to relax by the pool, to swim, soak up the sun and hopefully acquire a semblance of a tan to ward off the winter blues before returning home in search of Spring.  Oh, I almost forgot. this being a running blog, we did in fact get out running on nine of our fourteen days over a regular four mile circuit round 'the ridge' with 380ft of ascent to strengthen the old legs. And after eating like kings (and queens) with an abundance of mouth watering dishes, we both managed to lose weight. I reckon we should go to La Palma more often.......

Croaky and creaky.....

      The temperature was well below zero when I left the Yorkshire Dales yesterday and I couldn't help feeling I should have stayed and gone for a run through those beautiful riverbank fields - though I'm not sure my wonderful partner would have agreed with me. For over a week now I've been coughing and aching and talking with a funny, croaky voice, as have quite a few others in the village including the majority of our Church congregation. Three runs in the past seven days, amounting to a mere twelve miles, resulted in me collapsing through the door drenched in sweat and my heart rate up in the 150's.

Togged up for a cold winter run....down Postman's Steps..

      On Saturday, after a six mile jaunt round Appletreewick on leaden legs at a sick snail's pace, I decided enough was enough. It's time to rest and allow the old body to recuperate and regain a modicum of strength before jetting off to La Palma on St Valentine's Day. I'm saying 'I decided' enough was enough, but a certain other person had some persuasive words too, remembering the terrible state I was in last year, confined to our hotel room with the daddy of all colds and unable to move my head from side to side after my neck locked solid. Ibuprofen and paracetamol formed the main part of my diet.

      So, I was ever so good on Sunday, never

And never make the excuse you're too old....

stirring from the house, except for filling the coal bucket to keep the stove well stoked. I'll admit to getting a bit restless in the afternoon but forced myself to stay put, diverting attention from physical exercise by indulging in more mental pursuits of solving crosswords and codewords. I'm not sure which is the more exhausting! I slept well after it, though it could have been more to do with the rather large dram of malt whisky that rounded off our wonderful evening meal. However, when the sun rose on a sparkling white landscape. the old legs started to get a bit twitchy and restless again.  As they do.
      After stocking up on meat, yogurt, fruit and vegetables I returned home  to find a quarterly fuel bill lying on the mat that gave me a bit of a shock - to say the least! There was another irritating letter too stating that having turned seventy (by almost twelve years), it was time to renew my driving licence and questioned whether I was still fit to drive. The cheek of it.  I needed no further incentive to slip into running gear and tootle off for a recuperative three mile run to prove, if only to myself, that I'm still fit for most things - albeit some take a wee bit longer nowadays!  Well OK, a lot longer, and especially when it comes to signing cheques or answering impertinent questions from vehicle licencing authorities!

I ache, therefore I am.......

      A mild dose of man flu curtailed my activities a bit last week (any excuse will do!) so didn't get out as

River Wharfe in spate at Linton....

often as I'd have liked. The weather was pretty grotty too, as no doubt everyone will have read about in the National news, so I've had to rethink my running programme to escape the gales and general nastiness. I'm going soft in my dotage. I considered going back to the dreaded treadmill but the lady I rang at our local Sports Centre informed me it currently costs £3:60 per session to use the fitness suite.  Being a Yorkshireman, with a few drops of Scottish blood, that sounded a bit much, so the idea got put on a back burner until the weather turns really bad!

The amazing Ed Whitlock in flight....

      So what did I do? Well, I've been reading about old  Ed Whitlock, one of my racing contemporaries who holds about twenty world age group records over all sorts of distances, his latest being an incredible 3:41:58 in the Toronto marathon after just turning 82. Not bad that, eh! Does he do his long runs on scenic country routes? No.  Does he visit his local track for speed sessions? No. All he does is walk a couple of blocks to his local cemetery to run 600m circuits round the tombstones for an hour or two, or until he's feeling thirsty. He's done that for years and seems to prefer it to wide open spaces.

      

      Coincidentally, one of my speedier running acquaintances, 43 year old Dave Watson of

Dave Watson, another speed merchant..

Holmfirth Harriers, has also taken to training around the dead centre of our village, sometimes in the wee small hours with a headtorch, or by moonlight. Like everywhere else in the Pennines the graveyard sits on a slope so it's possible to do uphill reps for leg strength or downhill reps for leg speed. Dave sometimes does these twice a day - before his longer run over Castle Hill!  He's no slouch and boasts an impressive set of PB's most folk would be proud of - like 5,000m in 14:41 and 10,000m in a respectable 31:46.

      Last week I set off on a short trial run to suss things out. It's only three minutes across the fields to the gates of the cemetery, less when it's blowing a westerly gale, so I was soon teetering round the tombstones exploring the ups and downs and ins and outs of the many intersecting paths. On the second circuit I met a lovely old lady dabbing her eyes beside the well kept double grave of her husband and son.  "It draws me like a magnet" she said, and I understood why. She was grief stricken when her only son collapsed and died while running over Castle Hill. He was 60 years old and she firmly believes he'd still be alive today if he hadn't taken up running. I've tried but can't convince her otherwise. His father was only 64 when he died.

  

Snowdrops at Linton....

    Today I had the misfortune (!) to be leaving the house just as Dave Watson was passing - on his way to the cemetery. "I'll run with you" he said. Needless to say, it was impossible to match his strides, especially while talking at the same time, so it wasn't long before I was reduced to a short walk, come the first incline. Dave carried on his ceaseless chatter and I was mighty relieved when he departed after a couple of circuits and left me to my own devices! I was curious to know what my heart rate had rocketed up to while running with Dave, but on getting back home I discovered I'd forgotten to start my watch at the shock of having to run with him! I don't even know how long the run took, but pretty sure it was a lot quicker than last time!  My aching legs thought so too. Next time I'll make sure the coast is clear before I venture out for a run.....

......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 !!!!!