Still no running.....plenty of reminiscing.

      In a hurry to catch a train I was running from one end of Leeds station to the other when I realised my Rt leg was still in no mood to go as fast as I wanted it to go. So I reckon a few more days yet before I take

My mate Stuart Scott near Kinbreack (Click to enlarge)

off into the hills again.. In the meantime I'm in reminiscing mode, letting my mind enjoy itself roaming around some remote hills of yesteryear. And they don't come more remote than the rough bounds of Knoydart in the wild north west of Scotland where, some years ago, I spent a dry, sunny Easter bagging all the Munros with a mountaineering friend, Dr Stuart Scott, a lecturer in vulcanology and geology at the University of Plymouth. We'd parked the car at Strathan and walked up the Dearg Allt to Kinbreack bothy where we cooked a meal by the light of head torches as darkness fell.
      

      Next morning we awoke to brilliant sunshine, blue sky and all the mountaintops plastered with

Making myself at home by Lochan nam Breac

deep, hard packed snow. Perfect conditions for our traverse of the two eastern Munros, Gairich and Sgurr Mor before making our way past the little jewel of Lochan nam Breac en route to Barrisdale bothy where I remember there was a very smelly dog whose owner enthused all evening about the wonderful hill they'd climbed that day - Meall Bhuide.  The previous night they'd camped by the River Carnach, two in a tent with said smelly dog which, at Barrisdale, was allowed to make itself comfortable on any chair it jolly well liked. I opted to sleep outside in my wee tent, visited regularly throughout the night by a horse that must have felt a bit lonely, and wakened in the morning by an over-sexed quacking drake streaking around at great speed rounding up his harem.
      

      The morning had dawned grey and misty with limited visibility and there was some discussion about whether we should keep to our schedule or have a rest day. "Och, it'll clear before much longer, let's

Stuart en route to Sgurr Mor from Sgurr an Fhuarain

go" I said.  And we set off into the gloom on a rising path, over a rocky shoulder, and into a snow filled Coire Dhorcail for the assault on Ladhar Bheinn. I can't remember a path. All I remember is the snow getting steeper and steeper until we were kicking steps up a very steep wall. I was ahead of Stuart, breaking trail, when there was that dreaded sound, something like a train going past, quite close to our right but invisible through the thick clag. An avalanche.
       

Stuart leaving the summit of Ladhar Bheinn

      A voice from below shouted "I'm going back". Stuart was clearly not happy. But from my position above him I could see a high black wall of rock that reassured me no avalanche was ever going to displace us, so I called him up. We followed the rock wall to a break where we could climb onto the ridge to be greeted by a most wonderful sight. We'd climbed out of the clag into a cloud inversion with a cloudless blue sky above us and all the glistening white peaks of Knoydart rising around us. "Aaahhhh, Gregorlach" proclaimed an exuberant Stuart, waving his axe in the air, "this is what mountaineering is all about".  We'd made the right decision. Walking that ethereal pathway along the narrow summit ridge, marvelling at our glittering surroundings, cut off from the rest of the world, it was a scalp-tingling experience I shall never forget. I might even have shed a little tear. It was so beautiful.
      

      We made our way back to the bothy in Barrisdale, staying high to avoid avalanche threats, over

Contemplating Meall Buidhe

the Bealach Coire Dhorrcail, on to Aonach Sgolte then a steep drop down to Mam Barrisdale where the clag had thankfully cleared. The smelly dog had gone but left it's delightful scent on all the chairs. After refuelling I found a little loft space where I opted to sleep for the night. I'd hardly got my head down when a generator started up, just outside my window, and went on boom boom booming till one in the morning.  Barrisdale bothy is not one of my favourite places to sleep, magnificent though its situation might be.  Next time I'll stay outside with the horse. 
       

Enjoying a brew outside Sourlies bothy

      Next day we were away in good time re-tracing our steps part way up Mam Barrisdale to climb Luinne Bheinn via the lesser peak of Bachd Mhic an Tosaich. The freezing conditions held which meant we could walk all day and return in the evening without getting our feet wet, which can't happen very often in Knoydart. It also meant we could take more direct routes, not having to traverse the normally boggy hinterland. We were soon onto Luinne Bheinn (usually pronounced loony bin) and setting our sites on distant Meall Bhuide rising majestically in the distance at the end of a long snowy ridge. Stuart, my mountaineering partner, and I were well matched and could move at speed confidently and safely. It wasn't long before we were ascending Meall Buidhe's final rocky ramparts to lunch at it's towering viewpoint. We lingered long, savouring the situation before descending by its south east ridge to the stalker's path through the Man Meadail, down to cross the Carnach river, then continuing south to the bothy at Sourlies.
      

      This is another beautifully situated bothy at the head of Loch Nevis. There was not a soul there

Resting on Sgurr na Ciche after the hard climb

when we arrived so it wasn't long before I'd claimed a bunk, taken off my boots, made a brew and sat outside enjoying the late afternoon sun. Next day would be a hard traverse over three high Munros, and we'd be starting from nigh on sea level, so we got our heads down early anticipating an early start in the morning. Some time after midnight I became aware of voices and not long after the door burst open to admit half a dozen hungry Outward Bounders who set about cooking meals and making brews that lasted well into the wee small hours. It must have been 3 o'clock before silence descended upon the place. We got our own back in the morning, clattering our pots and pans to make darn sure they were all awake before we slammed the door and set off along the Finiskaig river to find a stalker's path into Coire na Ciche, then a tough slog onto the ridge leading to Sgurr na Ciche, the highest of the Knoydart Munros at 1040m.
     

Approaching Coireachan from Sgurr na Ciche (far right)
and Garbh Chioch Mhor

       I remember finding a map and compass in the wee shelter at the summit, so hoped the person who'd left them had a good sense of direction. I sprawled out for a while to get my breath back before the long ridge walk to Garbh Chioch Mhor (1013m) then over two minor peaks to Sgurr nan Coireachan (953m), our final Munro. It had clouded over but frozen snow still gave some ideal walking conditions along the delightful high level route. We had crampons (essential for winter mountaineering) but I can't remember ever wearing them. There was just enough give in the snow for our boots to bite, or to kick steps, that an ice axe was all we needed for protection and to move safely. As I've said, we were a perfectly matched pair who travelled fast. (In summertime we travelled even faster, often wearing no more than shorts and a sun hat, ticking off Munros in lightweight running shoes). So, it wasn't long before Coireachan was beneath our feet and we'd dropped down into Glen Dessarry for a night in the excellent MBA bothy at A'Chuil. Next morning it was an easy walk back to the car at Strathan for the long drive home. Mission accomplished. And on schedule....

Run, limp, walk.......

.....in other words, something of a downward spiral from Tuesday through to Thursday, and the animal is definitely not happy. The week begun well enough with a 4 mile progression run at a manageable pace that left me feeling really good - in spite of some inclement weather. I'd been kept awake by wind moaning in the chimney and rain rattling on the windows for half the night, but both had moderated when I forced myself out of bed at 7.30am. After a quick coffee I was jogging up the road dodging the puddles and screwing my eyes against the myriad car headlights before 8am. After a comfortable 12.03 first mile I progressed to 11.34, 9.46 and finished with a satisfying 8.57 before a short cool-down jog. A nice work-out.
     

Why I kept on running - Wednesday's sunrise.....(Click to enlarge)

Next morning things started to go downhill. Out again before 8am I'd barely run 250 yds before I sensed a slight pull at the top of my Rt hamstring, or lower glute - somewhere in that area. I toyed with the idea of abandoning the run and walking home, but a flush of pink in the eastern sky lured me onwards with its promise of another glorious sunrise. I left the main road and diverted down a quiet lane where no-one would see me if I had to walk, something I always find embarrassing if dressed in running clothes. Although the pain was getting worse I forced myself to keep running. It didn't feel too bad on the uphills but the forward swing of the leg on the flat, and particularly on the downhills, produced a painful twinge. To lessen the pain I tried not to swing it forward so far which made my gait look a bit odd!
      As I crested the top of the hill I was almost shouting at the sun to 'gerra bladdy move on and start the day'. The sooner it rose, the sooner I could go home and start popping some Ibuprofens. Eventually, on my third circuit of the hill, it obliged and set the sky ablaze in spectacular fashion, stopping me in my tracks while I fiddled with my camera to record the moment. In recent months I've become rather obsessed with watching and recording sunrises, so my picture library is bulging with far too many crimson megabytes. I jogged home, the last mile almost two minutes slower than the previous day, gave my legs a good old stretch and popped 600mgs Ibuprofen. I've plenty to go at having ordered a new batch before setting off to Scotland with the idea I'd be unlikely to survive a week running those treacherous cliffs without some sort of accident. Best be prepared. Amazingly, I survived without even a stumble!

At Torr Point - Screel Hill in background - climbed Dec 29th,2014

      Then came Thursday. Talk about fun, it was hilarious with a howling wind hovering up the top end of the Beaufort scale and gusting to goodness knows what. On Castle Hill it was impossible to run in a straight line at the windward end, but blessed relief to jog the leeward side. The strain of battling the wind, and the curious contortions it forced me into adapting to maintain any forward momentum, did my injured leg no good at all. To make matters worse, my Rt calf muscle started to give tell-tale twinges on the run home - which reduced me to a walk, regardless of what anyone might think. I blamed that on a new pair of Inov-8 Roclite shoes I was wearing for the first time that day, though I've worn out three previous pairs of Roclites without any problems. I'll be mighty glad when New Balance re-introduce my favourite MT101 trail shoes. Shouldn't be long now.......

      So that was the week that was, 12 measly miles. At the weekend I refused to walk any farther than the coal shed, and may not venture any farther for the whole of the coming week. Calf injuries worry me and there's no way I'll run with one, so there's a possibility the blog may be suspended for a wee while. Or I may print a few recent photographs - like the one above of my wonderful partner, taken on a walk to Torr Point in southern Scotland January 2nd, four days after climbing Screel Hill in the distance. I may even introduce people to some of my favourite video clips - like this one of Danny Macaskill on the Skye Ridge. Its background music haunts me and I often find myself singing snippets of it, or hummimg them, while out running. Watch this space. Or have a good listen.....

A Very Happy New Year to everyone......

Mainly because it's become far too commercialized I've begun to hate the stressful build-up to

4 miles in memory of 'Mad Dog' at 11am Boxing Day...(Click to enlarge)

Christmas and always heave a huge sigh of relief when the shopping is over, all the cards sent, presents sorted out and we can eventually get around to the actual process of celebrating; eating, drinking and being more than usually merry. Regardless of advice from my Consultant I eat and drink just about everything I shouldn't, as long as I have an adequate amount of relevant medication to bung or un-bung my stupid growling gut on the increasing occasions it starts to erupt. I really must begin treating it with a little more respect in 2015. Honest Doc!  Problem is, I've lived on steak nearly all my life and reluctant to change to something I don't really like. Besides, other menus might be a little more complicated and take longer to prepare than four minutes under the grill. Quick and easy is how I like things.

One of my many Christmas prezzies....highly recommended

And talking of meat, our last port of call on Christmas Eve was at my local butcher's where the bill came to £31.00 for a fair sized free range chicken, a large joint of pork and a joint of beef rump (both vac-packed to take to Scotland), some bacon and half a dozen pigs in blankets. That nice little parcel lasted until 4th January, the only addition being an exceptionally flavoursome haggis from a butcher in Dalbeattie for our New Year's Eve celebrations. A lady in the queue at my local butcher had paid £10.00 more than me, £41.00, for just a turkey. I wonder if that lasted her into New Year? If it did she'd be heartily sick of it's texture and taste by then. We prefer a bit more variety.

Needless to say, quite a lot of running got done over the festive period, 39 miles to be precise, over a

Sunrise over Rascarrel Bay at 8.49 on our morning run.......

variety of terrain. Mileage was a little sparse on Christmas Day and Boxing Day due to various other commitments - having to be back at 11am to uncork the champagne for the old lady next door, for one thing. On Boxing Day I'd pledged to be out running at 11am with people throughout the world in remembrance of Mike (Mad Dog) Schreiber, a legendary athletics coach, who sadly passed away in November. I'm not sure why I did this. He wouldn't coach me after I contacted him with a profile and list of M60 PB's. Maybe he thought I was an impostor, not believing my PB's, or didn't need help if I was already running sub 3 hour marathons and 60 minute 10 milers. However, he did give me a list of exercises for easing back pains, and I still use them. I also have his book, The Art of Running, duly signed by Mike and inscribed - The 'Art' is in having Fun!  I'll second that..

The bulk of our running was done in Scotland, always before breakfast, setting off in darkness in

Guess which way we went? Left, of course.......

hopes of seeing the sun rise. We hadn't realised how much later the sun rises in Scotland compared to the north of England. We set off circa 7.50am along the treacherous, icy cliff path, but it wasn't until 8.49, on reaching Rascarrel, that we caught a glimpse of the sun peeping over the horizon across the Solway. I'd been hoping to take action shots of my wonderful partner teetering along the edge of the cliff with a huge drop into the sea only inches to her left but it was still dark as we passed there. Stangely, it didn't seem to bother us in the semi darkness but when I later walked it in broad daylight I got quite a shock! Sunrise turned the sea scarlet, gulls were crying their delight and curlews called joyously. We ran easily, having reached the flat part. When alone I like to sing while I'm running, though not with my wonderful partner who, I think, regards it as a form of 'showing off'. She certainly seems annoyed if I'm whistling and running!

That shaggy stallion and his entourage.....

Temperatures got as low as 25ºF and rarely rose above freezing throughout our hoilday. Freezing fog greeted us one morning as we opened the door and stepped out. There was no wind nor any sound from the sea as we ran along the cliff top, just an eerie silence broken only by the occasional scrunching of ice beneath our feet. Loch Mackie was icebound too with hoary white shrubs bowing their heads along its banks. Further towards Airds Cottage a string of horses materialized from the fog and raised their heads to greet us, one of them a hairy old stallion with a tail that touched the ground, trousered legs, long main and masses of facial hair that covered his eyes. Sight of him inspired a quiet rendering of 'Wild Horses' - after I'd got a bit ahead of my wonderful partner! I ran that five mile circuit four times, the last time alone when, amongst the songs I sung, I even remembered a Gaelic chorus I hadn't sung for years. On a fifth bitterly cold morning we ran a slightly longer route round Auchencairn and back by Loch Mackie. I must say, I prefer the narrow cliff path with the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks, exciting situations and gulls crying. Road running is soooo boring.

Running at 25ºF by Rascarrel Bay......needed a jacket!

We returned to Yorkshire on January 3rd and were out running again on 4th to - guess what - suss out part of a route my wonderful partner is guiding a party of U3A walkers round on January 15th. It was a glorious sunny day, not a cloud in the sky and the temperature down to -2ºC. Ideal for running. It took a while to defrost and warm up the car before setting off to Grimwith Reservoir to start our five mile route. Frozen bogs are not the easiest of places to run on so progress was a bit slow until we crossed the main B6265 road and onto a gravelly track with runnels of hard ice. Leaving that we joined a grassy track, white with frost, to cross a stream that tumbles into Trollers Gill. Old mine workings and shafts dotted the landscape as we negotiated further frozen bogs before crossing New Road from whereon the going was grassy and easy all the way back to Grimwith. A very pleasant run in ideal conditions.

A phone call told me our afternoon Church service was cancelled. The minister was ill. Just as well

Casting a long shadow.......Grimwith reservoir

because we needed time to take down the Christmas tree and all the trimmings, so it's doubtful whether I'd have made it to Church anyway. With the demise of the Christmas tree the festive season is officially over and it's time to maybe consider some New Year resolutions. At my time of life I'm more likely to say 'Sod it, what will be will be' and carry on taking the medicine. But a little gremlin inside my head keeps saying "You really ought to do something about your diet, you know. Red meat isn't doing you any good at all and you might just squeeze out a few more years if you knock one or two things on the head and replace them with something more tolerable". Well yes, I know that, but getting uaccustomed to changes after 82 years isn't easy. I'm an old 'stick in the mud'. I've got used to certain tastes and textures and flavours and if I don't like what's in my mouth I spit it out. I haven't vomited in nearly 50 years (I well remember the last time, but wont go into that!)

Running down to Grimwith......

. Nowadays I can stomach anything. It's that 27ft of piping below there that gives me trouble. After seeing a wonderful photograph of a lady Vegan runner finishing all smiles at the end of a 10 mile race I tentatively looked at a list of Vegan foods but didn't recognize 90% of the names. So stuff that. (But hang on a minute while I wash down another dose of Loperamide). Anyway, I'm thinking about making changes but never in a million years will I begin eating something I don't like just because it's supposed to be good for me. If anyone can come up with an aesthetically pleasing diet that's simple to prepare and doesn't evoke Vesuvius-like eruptions in my nether regions I might give it a go.

Oh, and the only other resolution my wonderful partner and I have made is to do one or two Park Runs together. I might agree to the 'one' bit of that resolution! Happy New Year everyone.......

For anyone interested here are a couple of maps showing routes we ran over the festive period:

First up is the circular route we ran on four mornings from GR: NX 822 494, our hired cottage at Balcary Bay. Garmin said it was 4.80 miles with 755ft of ascent. The narrow cliff path from Balcary Point to Airds Point is not for the faint hearted. Better to get it over while it's still dark! 

And say 'Hello' to the wild horses after Loch Mackie.

 

Second up is a bit of the proposed U3A walking route (which we ran) with a Start/Finish at GR: SE 063 640, the parking lot by Grimwith Reservoir. Garmin measures it at 4.97 miles with 804ft ascent. 

Happy running everyone...

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..