Thirsk 10 mile race

New bit of bling....

The weather was cool with high cloud and hazy sunshine for Sunday's 10 mile Championship race at Thirsk. This was the race that was cancelled last November due to icy conditions, so all the trophies and T-shirts are dated 2010.  It was the flattest course I've raced on for quite some time, possibly years, and I'd quite forgotten how to handle it.  Apart from a slight incline over a railway bridge the rest was flat as the proverbial pancake. With almost 800 runners crammed into a narrow road for the Start I lined up as close to the front as I dared so as not to be held up. As a result I got carried away a bit fast, for me, averaging  7.41 over the first four miles. Inevitably, the old legs started to seize up and with the exception of another 7.41 for the sixth mile all the rest were in the 8's with an inexcusable 9.06 for the 8th mile. I finished 455th of 741 runners in 80.29 (chip time), fast enough to take the MV75 title in the Yorkshire Veterans Championship. That time also takes me top of the MV75 10 mile Rankings for 2011 though there are nine months left for someone to topple me.

....and a new T-shirt

I was a bit miffed about the lack of category prizes in the North of England Championship race that finished at MV70 and LV70. Considering pre-entries closed before race date, organisers knew full well there were runners in the MV75 and MV80 categories and, to my mind, should have catered for them in this prestigious event. They were even mean enough to limit prizes to the first two in the MV70 category (which was effectively three categories in one) as opposed to first three places in all the others. Anyhow, so far as I'm concerned I was 1st MV75 in the Northern Championship - albeit unofficially - along with the remarkable John Johnson of St Theresa's who turned out to prove he was best MV80 in the north. We train hard for these events and at our end of the age scale need all the encouragement we can get rather than being dismissed as eccentric old fuddy-duddies!  Rant over.

With limited training my wonderful partner and I both found this race particularly hard and returned home somewhat drained. Unlike the incredible Runningbear (1st lady in 58.38) who, along with her speedy partner (a PB of 58.01), chose to celebrate their victories at a local hostelry, we retired to bed early after our Sunday roast and a rather nice bottle of wine..

Today, I was back out running on the moor with the whirling plovers and warbling curlews for company whilst my wonderful partner somehow found energy for a bit of cavorting - aka Scottish country dancing. Roll on next weekend's 10K at Arkendale - I think!
Full results here:

Old age and decrepitude

A summary of last weeks activity - and reasons for inactivity.


Monday: Feeling a wee bit blah after fifteen miles at the weekend but set off in the morning on a regular 6 mile run to the hamlet of Yarnbury - and back. This scenic run incorporates two fast miles which I completed  in 6.52 and 6.48. I've run them faster, and recently, but was happy with the day's performance.

Tuesday: Maybe it's old age and decrepitude that every now and then manifests itself in what I call 'a banana back' when I've difficulty getting out of bed and walking is painful. With a very distinct lurch to starboard running is out of the question, and so it was today. At such times when I can hardly hobble out of the door I keep myself motivated by reading other people's running Blogs (like that of Julia Armstrong), or inspiring books (such as John L Parker's Once a Runner), or by affirming choice mantras like one recently sent me by Julie Reyes, aka The Hotlegs Runner, that simply states 'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me' (Philippians 4:13). 

Julie's Mantra below the picture in my quiet corner

Wednesday/Thursday: My aching back continued to cramp activities so very little got done on these two days. I figured my body was trying to tell me something, i.e. "It's time to take a short rest from training activities, I'll let you know when you can start again". Yeah, OK body, message received.

In the meantime a large and exceedingly healthy looking rat was playing about on my lawn. It seemed to think food I'd put out for birds was intended for it, and maybe it's family, so was storing it in a neat little tunnel under the compost bin. It was fascinating to watch but might be different if six of its mates arrived, especially if I happened to be sunbathing on the lawn at the time! I phoned the pest control officer who plugged various holes with little sachets of something exceedingly nasty and assured me I wouldn't see the little critter again. 

Friday: Got out of bed to discover I could walk straight again. Had the pain really gone, or were the umpteen grams of Paracetamol merely masking it?  I decided to give it another day before running again - mainly because I didn't have much time anyway. I'd run out of food so there was shopping to do. Bulbs and seeds needed planting and other annoying little jobs reared their ugly heads. Ah, that necessary evil of good weather - gardening!

Saturday: Dawned warm and sunny, so couldn't resist donning shorts (for the first time this year) and vest to set off along the River Wharfe on one of my choice runs. My Garmin registered 10.42 miles for the out and back route and the good thing about it was it only took 7 seconds longer for the return leg from the turn-around point at Barden Bridge. Those few seconds might well have been eliminated if I hadn't slowed briefly to talk to a couple who were training for the Dales 100 mile race that takes place in May. When I caught up with them at Howgill they'd already covered 18 miles and still had another 6 or 7 to do on their way back to Grassington. Wish I could do that!

The afternoon was taken up introducing our next Methodist Minister, Rev Janet Clasper, to the delights of Hebden Chapel, in the Grassington Circuit, where she'll take up her preaching duties in early September. Important things for her to note were (a) the pulpit can only be accessed from the right side of the Chapel. If she enters by the steps on the left she's likely to fall down a hole at the back. And (b) there's an almost invisible swing-arm in the Communion rail to gain admittance, so no need to inelegantly stride over to take our offerings, or when administering the Sacrament.

Sunday: We'd intended parking at Barden Bridge and running a 5 mile circuit to Cavendish Pavillion, and back, but by 9.30 in the morning every available parking place was occupied by weekend visitors to this lovely stretch of the River Wharfe. We'd chosen that area because my wonderful partner had been thrilled to spot a Kingfisher when she ran there a few days previously. I wanted to see it too! Not wishing for a particularly long run after yesterday's 10 mile effort we backtracked along the road to find a suitable parking place and ran a different stretch of the river. It was a very pleasant and relaxed four miles, but no Kingfisher.

The evening was spent eating, drinking and generally being quite merry in the company of friends who'd recently returned from their earthquake ravaged home in Christchurch, New Zealand. Despite all the groans and grumbles about this country of ours, and how it's run, I'm not sure I'd like to live anywhere else!

Spring in my step

Last week was another reasonable one training-wise, with a tough 24 miles, but feel sure I'd achieve more if I'd a running partner of equal ability, or perhaps slightly faster, to sprinkle a bit of competitiveness into my solo efforts. Some years ago I trained with a a chap called Donald Bamforth, a butcher who sold some wonderful pies.  He was five years younger than me and ever so slightly faster. After a reasonable warm-up he'd say "Come on, time for an effort" and he'd be away like the clappers for anything up to a mile in distance with me nearly killing myself trying to catch him! 

Our runs were always off-road, often along one or more legs of the Calderdale Way Relay, anything up to 14 miles and hardly ever slower than 7½ minute mile pace. We'd no Garmins at that time, we just pressed 'Start' on our watches at the beginning of a run and 'Stop' at the end, so no way of knowing the exact speed we were running at any given time. I'd guess our 'efforts' were run at around 5½ - 6 minute mile pace. After 8 or 9 miles when I was feeling decidedly weary Donald would say "Come on, last one now" - and I'd think "Oh God, not another" - but it was amazing how the old legs would immediately respond, the adrenalin would kick in and I'd go all out to run him down. Donald boasted the distinction of having won the MV50 category in the London Marathon against tough world-wide opposition, and with his help and encouragement I emulated his performance by winning London's MV60 category - twice.

I miss those sessions. Nowadays all my serious training is done alone, no-one to chase down, no-one snapping at my heels, but the idea of 'efforts' still holds strong. On Saturday I went for a wild off-road run around Mossdale, a route of 11 miles with over 1,300ft of ascent. Towards the end, when I was slowing down and beginning to feel quite knackered, I suddenly imagined Donald's voice saying "Come on, time for an effort". Miraculously, my old legs sprang to life and I churned out a last mile at 7.15 pace. It just goes to show, the human body is capable of achieving far more than we'd normally think or allow.

Spring is in the air

Spring is early this year. On the very first day of March when morning frost contrasted sharply against a brilliant blue sky the countryside was alive with birdsong.  Scores of new lambs snuggled up to their mums in sunlit fields around Bolton Abbey. Catkins shook like little lamb's tails in the gentle breeze. In village gardens crocuses saluted the sun, opening their purple, white and yellow petals to full extent. A local farmer said his fields had never looked so green so early in the year.

On Saturday we were joined by my eldest son for a walk around Burnsall in the morning and Hebden Ghyll in the afternoon. Alasdair is an environmentallist and wildlife enthusiast whose keen observations alerted us to all the exquisite sights and sounds of an enchanting day. Like the Dipper that bobbed and curtsied on his favourite stone before disappearing under the gushing waters of the Wharfe for some tasty morsel. Like the striking male Goosander that rode the rapids with his three crested wives. Like the Oyster Catchers, Lapwings and Curlews that filled the air with their joyous pipings. Like the wonderfully formed multi-coloured lichens which, when magnified, resembled miniature coral reefs. Like the recently arrived Redshank that sifted through the sandy shore of Mossy Mere. It was a truly memorable day that ended with a celebratory meal and a suitable vintage to mark the occasion.

High pressure dominated throughout the weekend as Sunday dawned clear and bright over a sparkling frosty landscape. After re-charging my batteries with some lusty singing at morning Eucharist I changed into running gear and set off along the banks of the Wharfe for a 'long run'. Not so long ago, in marathon training days, I would have clocked 18 - 22 miles. Nowadays, in my dotage, I rarely run more than 10. However, I have a 10 mile Championship race coming up on March 27th so felt obliged to run at least that distance, if not a little more. My Garmin actually registered 10.18 miles in a comfortable 1 hour 44 mins.  Enough!

In spite of aching quads and painful backache I couldn't resist taking advantage of further good weather on Monday to slot in a bit of speedwork. After a couple of Paracetamols for breakfast I eased myself into gear with a two mile jog past the waterfall in Hebden Ghyll as far as Yarnbury. From the high point of Moor Lane, I unleashed a fast measured mile towards Grassington in 7.06. After another steady jog along Edge Lane and Tinker Lane I churned out another fast mile in exactly 7.00 minutes. It might have been faster if some agricultural vehicle hadn't got in the way down a narrow part of the track!  From there on it was only a short jog home to complete a scenic six mile circuit.

And that, you might like to know, is how aspiring octagonarians spend their Spring weekends!

Huddersfield Road Runners 10K race

For last Sunday's race the forecast was for fine weather, but a coolish 36ºF - ideal for racing - and for once it was right. Entries had reached the limit of 600 runners several days before the event so there were no entries on the day. We arrived in plenty of time to hydrate, locate changing rooms and showers and have loo stops before a longish warm-up to ease the old muscles into smooth working order.

At 11am prompt a hooter sounded.  We were away. After a flat 150m around the front of the sumptuous clubhouse in Lockwood the route began to climb, up, up and up again for over two lung-bursting miles through the village of Netherton till I began to wonder if there was any strength left in my old legs to prevent them buckling at the next section down Crosland Factory Lane. They survived, but not as well as those young whippersnappers who came thundering by with no respect for geriatric joggers!
We looped left, crossed a rushy dike and began another steady climb almost back into Netherton. I could grow to hate that place!  My quads were singing by now and it took a little time to get into full flow down Moor Lane and Bankfoot Lane to the five mile point at Armitage Bridge where we crossed the River Holme.  Here, I managed to sneak past two younger club mates I'd been shadowing since the start.

Profile of Huddersfield 10K

After yet another short steep ascent we burst out onto the busy Woodhead road with easy going to the six mile marker before a flat, fast bit of tarmac along Waterside to the Finish.

I placed 233th of 491 finishers in 52.33 so was well satisfied with my performance over this strenuous course with its cumulative 1,000ft of ascent. It's some time since I finished in the leading half of the field so figure my training must be paying dividends. All finishers received a classy Fruit of the Loom T-shirt emblazoned with Huddersfield Road Runners logo.

To make it an extra special day my wonderful partner's 433 placing and time of 64.21 gave her 1st place in the LV65 category, 7 minutes ahead of the LV60 winner. We each received vouchers to the value of £25.00 towards running related products.

It was a good day all round for our club, Longwood Harriers, for besides our two category wins, in the MV75 and LV65, Ian Mitchell won the MV55 category, Donald Kennedy took the MV45 prize and Brian Boothroyd the MV80 title.  The Longwood raiding party was in top gear!  Full results here.

Back to La Palma

Hotel Playa La Taburiente                                   

It felt so good to escape our chilly British winter and languish in the soothing warmth of La Palma in the beautiful Spanish Canary Islands.  Our Hotel, the Taburiente Playa in the resort of Los Cancajos, boasted four stars and pampered us like Royalty. Neither of us have ever seen such a vast variety of excellent food that catered for every nationality and taste, carnivore or vegetarian. It was awfully tempting to overeat but after the first day of unbridled indulgence I gave my greedy belly a good talking to and disciplined myself to concentrate on healthier choices of fish, salads and fruit, albeit in quite large amounts with just the right measure of wine to aid the digestive processes! 

The temperature in the pool hovered between 25º - 27º so was always warm enough for swimming, even for nesh Yorkshire people who can be a bit reluctant to doff their woolly hats and mufflers! Between walks and runs we spent many hours in or around the pool soaking up the sun, watching the world go by - or in my case unashamedly taking sneaky peeks at topless ladies!

Bougainvillea

La Palma is reputedly the steepest island in the world, a walker's paradise but a little exhausting for runners, particularly very old runners, like me!  But on eight occasions, to keep ticking over, we ran our breakfasts off with an undulating 4 mile loop around our resort before cooling off and recuperating by the pool. 

On other days we took off into the hills reaching heights of around 6,000ft on a couple of occasions, on Pico Bejenado and Pico Birigoyo, and almost 6,500ft on the day we walked/jogged the 19km chain of seven volcanoes from El Pilar to Fuencaliente in the south of the island. Thankfully, none of the volcanoes on the island have erupted since 1971. The Caldera de Taburiente, six miles across and a mile deep, is said by some to be the largest volcanic crater on earth. It's rim around the 8,000ft contour, almost twice the height of Ben Nevis, was draped in snow and inaccessible for much of the time. We never got there.

Running the Volcano route

Neither did we venture into the lush rain forest area to the north of the island on this occasion, but many of the places we did visit were equally flambuoyant. Laurel, Canary Pine, Prickly Pear, Palm, Orange and Lemon trees, White Broom, Dragon trees and countless acres of Banana plantations covered the landscape. Flowers were everywhere, of every colour, and wherever there were flowers there were butterflies. Frustratingly, we could put names to very few of them but our hearts were always uplifted by the masses of Bougainvillea adorning gaily coloured walls and patios. Kestrels hovered over the bare lava fields, presumably hunting lizards. Chaffinches begged for food on the very summit of Pico Bejenado and in many places shiny black Choughs honoured us with their striking presence.

Almond blossom

To the west of the island Almond trees carpet the slopes with delicate pink blossoms. To celebrate the occasion a festival is held at Puntagorda on the first weekend in February when crowds fill the streets in their thousands for music and dancing, eating and drinking - and in some cases maybe imbibing a little to excess. Perhaps it's an indication of how enthusiastically they tend to celebrate when local police and ambulances were lined up to presumably deal with any emergency that might arise. So too was the local Fire Engine, though I'm not sure why. Maybe they were just intent upon enjoying the festival along with everyone else.

Many of the people holidaying on the island were from the same area of Yorkshire as us, three of them living less than 7 miles away in the village of Meltham where we ran our 10K race only hours before flying south.  One of them, Martin who'd spent four years learning to speak fluent Spanish, was good enough to share a taxi to El Pilar on the day we scorched along the volcano route. Another, along with his charming wife, was a gentleman called Andy Styan who is something of a legend in fell-running circles on account of his longstanding record in the Langdale Horseshoe race. He ran the 14 miles with 4,000ft of rocky ascent in 1:55:03. That record was set way back in 1977 and no-one has yet broken it. It was a privilege to shake his hand and I just hope some of his speed and prowess rubs off on me! I'll soon find out.  My next race is less than two weeks away.

A bumper week

Last week was a bumper week mileage-wise, the old Runningfox having clocked up a grand total of 39 with some fairly fast ones - five @ average 7.18 pace and lots of 48 sec intervals @ average 6.45 pace. I'm not quite sure why (!) though there's a 10K race at Meltham this weekend (Jan 30th) which I might do if I don't get too excited about jetting off to La Palma in the Canary Islands a few hours later for some warm weather training. A New Year resolution was to try to do twelve races, one for each month of the year, so Meltham is very much on the cards.

Maybe 39 miles was a few too many because I'm currently feeling a bit Blah, though my powers of recovery, especially when the adrenalin starts flowing, are usually pretty good. Not having raced since the Derwentwater 10 last November I'm dying to know how my 2011 form measures against that of my geriatric contemporaries. Have the festive indulgences, and restricted training in all the snow, taken their toll?  Or has the rest been beneficial? I can't wait to find out.

 Addendum: Well, we did run the Meltham 10K race after all and conditions were perfect, a bit chilly as we lined up for the start but cool enough to keep the sweat down as we got under way over the rolling Pennine hills. Not being a 'morning' person I was feeling the pressure a bit with the 9.30am start but soon settled into a steady rhythm that got me round in 51.56, enough to win the MV75 category and beat the MV70 winner in the process. My finishing position was 206 from 363 finishers. So well satisfied. My wonderful Longwood Harrier partner clocked 63.02 in 332nd position, one place ahead of the legendary Ron Hill.
Full results here:

After the storm

It started raining on Friday evening, driven by a fierce westerly wind that rattled the Holly bush and arm wrestled the Silver Birch. It continued all weekend until the Wharfe burst its banks, flooding fields and  footpaths. Hills were cloaked in grey mist, streets deserted and smoke blowing in the lane as we stoked our fire against the dank chill. The only time we ventured out was to bring in more coal, more logs. Then, as we lay in bed on Sunday night, stars appeared one by one through gaps in the cloud and an almost full moon sailed majestically past our window, its silvery light creeping stealthily across the room, across our bed. What bliss. The storm was over.

On Monday morning after three days of slothful inactivity the temptation to lace up my Trail shoes and go for a run was irresistable. I'd mileage to make up so I opted for a favourite ten mile route along the riverbank to Barden Bridge - and back. The temperature had risen to double figures. Blackbirds were churning out their melodious tunes as if it were Spring. Mallard must have thought likewise for most of them were already paired, ducks bedazzled by the drake's gaudy plumage.

Water levels had dropped considerably though the river was still in noisy spate.   The path on which I was running to Barden had dried out remarkably fast. I waved to a heron that flapped lazily upstream on umbrella wings but, except for a neighbour with her dog and a friendly farmer at Woodhouse, there was nary a soul to be seen along the whole stretch of river to Barden Bridge. To find a better viewpoint for a picture of the bridge I decided to cross it. That done, and still feeling strong, I continued running for another mile, as far as the next bridge at roughly six miles. 

This was a bit farther than my computer brain had been programmed for, but I was enjoying it. The sun was out and I could feel it's wondrous warmth on my body as I turned for home with only my silent shadow for company. Hebden beck was still in spate as I crossed my last bridge by the Fish Farm.

My Garmin recorded 12.05 miles. It had taken 2 hours 8 minutes, not a great rate of knots but all the more enjoyable for taking time to absorb all the unfolding miracles of a rather magical day.

Ajit

An article in a fitness supplement of last Saturday's 'Guardian' about my old friend Ajit Singh brought back some very happy memories of our early association. I first met Ajit on a sultry July afternoon in 1992 after the last runners had crossed the line in the Pennine Marathon. My attention was drawn to a diminutive turbaned figure at the edge of the crowd watching the prize-giving. I doubt if he weighed 7st, his spindly legs were bandaged to above his knees and he sported the long grey beard and moustache of a typical Sikh. To my amazement his name was called to collect a prize in the MV60 category. He'd just completed this strenuous marathon with it's 2,000ft of ascent in 3.51.27. Here was a man I just had to get to know and it wasn't long before we became firm friends.

As a 'good for age' veteran he'd automatic entry into London '93 and insisted I should apply for an entry too to run it with him.  

"Sorry Ajit, I can't possibly afford a night in London, I'm out of work and on the breadline". 

"No problem, you can stay with me and my friends in Dagenham, it wont cost you a penny" he said. 

"But it costs money to get to London, and I don't like big cities". I countered. 

"It's only £15 return fare on the coach" he said, "you must come, you will easily beat all the over 60's".

Eventually I gave way to his positive persuasion, sent off the appropriate form and was granted a 'good for age' entry. 

Ajit - No. 22168

Thankfully, Ajit was familiar with London so knew where to pick up our numbers, where to catch the Tube to Dagenham and how to get to Blackheath for the start of the race the following morning. He made everything seem so easy. His friends and relations treated me royally, so I arrived at the Start Line in the form of my life, well rested, well fed and well prepared.

Only yards from the front of the Red Start I was over the line in seconds and straight onto automatic pilot, closing eyes and ears to all the race day razzmatazz and focusing all my faculties on the job in hand. My body responded like some well oiled machine programmed to get from A to B in the shortest possible time. Apart from obvious landmarks like Cutty Sark, Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, I remember very little about the race, no elation (or otherwise) at the finish, or quite where I met Ajit to be guided to Victoria Bus Station for the journey home to Huddersfield. All I wanted was to get out of London as quickly as possible. I felt terribly claustrophobic. I hate crowds, I can't stand noise! 

It wasn't until three days later that the reality of what I'd done finally began to sink in and invoke an air of well deserved smugness. I'd picked up a copy of 'Athletics Weekly' in WH Smiths, turned to the Results section and learned what Ajit predicted had indeed come true. My time of 2.54.18 was good enough to win the MV60 title among runners from all four corners of the earth in what many regard as the world's most prestigious marathon, a virtual World Championship. 

I am deeply indebted to Ajit for bringing about one of the highlights of my racing career. Without his friendly persuasion and help of his friends in Dagenham I would never have got to London. Maybe it was something to do with his Sikh religion that Ajit experienced great joy from being the catalyst of my success. At the Pennine marathon he'd recognized a wee spark within me and fanned it into a flame. Thankyou Ajit, you are a truly magnanimous and wonderful friend to whom I'll be eternally grateful.

A time out from running

Village carol singers

I'm back, from the Yorkshire Dales, after celebrating the Holy birth and welcoming the New Year in some style!  For a period of twelve relaxing days it felt marvellous to be cut off from the world in a tiny village, away from my computer with absolutely no television, just a couple of newspapers and occasional snippets of news on the radio. Carol singers were out with their lamps and lanterns, braving the bitter conditions, harmonizing their voices around the village on Christmas Eve with all monies collected being donated to charity. Being somewhat croaky with the remains of a cold I declined to join them. 

For much of the time we couldn't get out of the village. Although there were Severe Weather warnings we tried  to get to the Ribble Valley 10K race in Lancashire on 27th but ungritted roads were like glass so we returned to the comfort of our warm cottage. It later transpired the race had been cancelled after a milk tanker slid down a hill blocking a bridge part way along the course. 

Christmas dinner

In spite of our lack of activity (no running at all between Christmas Eve and New Years day) we consumed a vast amount of food, though not the traditional Turkey. There are far too many days-worth of meat on a Turkey for our small athletic frames to cope with. And besides, we discovered a couple of years ago we can purchase a fair sized Chicken, a joint of Pork, a joint of Beef rump, lots of streaky bacon and Pigs in Blankets, giving us much more variation, all for less than the price of a Turkey. So we repeated that order again. Amazingly, after consuming a mountain of these calorific goodies and some delectable vintages my weight remained constant, though I dare say the fat/muscle ratio may have changed a little!

Icicles on Rivwr Wharfe at Linton Falls

For the first time in thirty years stretches of the River Wharfe froze from bank to bank. Temperatures dropped to -10ºC creating problems with burst pipes in local houses and farms. Even our Methodist Chapel fell foul of an act of God so our Covenant Service was conducted in perishingly cold conditions. Ironically, it was one of the best attended of the year with insufficient Service Books to go round and more wine having to be sent for half way through Communion!

Hungry Heron by the fish farm

We're normally in Scotland to celebrate New Year but after some tricky experiences with roads and weather last year we reluctantly stayed at home this time. Instead we invited friends around on New Year's Eve for a traditional Scots supper of haggis (suitably saturated with a wee dram of Famous Grouse), tatties and neeps followed by rich Christmas pudding and brandy sauce to hold it down. A somewhat larger dram of single Islay Malt accompanied the midnight chimes amid cries of HAPPY NEW YEAR to us and all our friends. I'm not sure whose idea it was, though possibly mine, it was then decided the New Year might possibly be made even Happier with further applications of that wonderful amber nectar. We retired to bed at half past one, merry as Christmas!  That little session marked the Grande Finale to our festive activities. Nine hours later, after 2011 had dawned dull and grey with an arctic north wind sweeping down from Great Whernside and across the moor, I went out and ran ten miles.

Afterwards, as I climbed onto our new-fangled bathroom scales I learned my weight is exactly the same as it was pre-Christmas, body fat measures 17%, visceral fat 7% and my BMI remains at 22.1  It will be interesting to monitor these figures throughout the year. Ideally, I'd like to get my body fat down to around 13% but that means a lot of running, quite a bit more than the 944 miles I churned out in 2010.

Time for reflection

And here's a final thought for you to ponder as you ease into 2011. A septuagenarian fell running acquaintence, George Arnold of Preston Harriers, was asked by his doctor "Have you been a runner all your life?" George replied "No, not yet!"  I like that. None of us have reached completion yet. We are all 'work in progress' striving towards wholeness and our ultimate goal.  To paraphrase what Paul says in Phillipians 4  v13-14, "One thing I do, forgetting what is behind (in 2010) and straining towards what is ahead (in 2011) I press on towards the goal to win the prize for which God has called me". 

A Very Happy New Year to all my fellow Bloggers, readers, and all our loved ones.

Runningfox routes (3)

Along the Wharfe.

Due to treacherous icy conditions on the hills in and out of Grassington we'd to abandon the car three miles from home on Saturday morning and walk the rest of the way on untreated roads.  After half an hour two snow ploughs came hurtling by, as if they were racing, but neither was salting or gritting. That came later. We got our car home around mid-afternoon. A bottle of neat Concentrated Screen Wash buried under our shopping in the boot had frozen!

Snow ploughs - at speed

Sunday was a truly magnificent day when we couldn't resist going for a run. With a covering of snow and temperatures down to -10ºC the landscape glittered like diamonds under a mainly cloudless sky. We opted for one of our regular runs along the River Wharfe where long flat fields are ideal for fast repetitions or fartlek sessions. Each of us wore Yaktrax to ensure we stayed upright.

Leaving the village on a slippery road

Winter wonderland by the River Wharfe, though a bit cold for the
resident Goosanders, Mallard, Heron and Little Grebe

Striding out towards Linton Falls in her Yaktrax

Feed my sheep.......

Linton Parish Church, St Michael and All Angels,
 a place of worship since the 12th century

Gulls on the river by the old corn mill at Linton

The 'Tin bridge' over Linton Falls

The weir above Linton Falls - the farthest point of our run today

Mist rising from the river by Hebden suspension bridge

Stepping stones for those who prefer not to use the bridge

Nearly home after a stonking good run!

Yaktrax

Last year when people were crawling across the streets of Huddersfield on hands and knees, terrified of standing up on the treacherous black ice, my wonderful partner's Canadian sister-in-law sent me a pair of Yaktrax to hopefully keep me upright. Typically, there was an instant thaw! 

Sunset by Victoria Tower, Castle Hill

So it wasn't until the recent freezing conditions that I was able to give them a test drive. On a day when temperatures plummetted to -18ºC in Yorkshire I strapped them to my Trail shoes and set off across the gleaming white landscape bound for the highest point on the horizon, a place called Castle Hill which, at 900ft above sea level, is where I do most of my repetition runs. I call it altitude training.

I must say the Yaktrax performed far better than I'd expected considering that under my feet was nothing but rock hard shiny snow/ice. I didn't slip once. I was a little frightened they might spring off my Trail shoes when I moved fast but the rubber bindings never moved.

It was wonderful to wander in sub zero temperatures on top of the world, in the shadow of Victoria Tower, with absolutely no fear of slipping or sliding. Whilst many elderly people were afraid to venture outside their warm homes this happy septuagenarian was marvelling at the breathtaking sunset as the great ball of fire gouged a great hole in the western horizon. I like my Yaktrax.

A bit of ice

We drove 'goodness knows how many miles' to Thirsk last Sunday only to be told their 10 mile North of England, Yorkshire and Yorkshire Veterans Championship race had been cancelled. Spit!  I'd rung the organiser on Saturday evening to ask if the course was runnable. He assured me it was and said he'd just run round it to check it out. Furthermore he said it was a good forecast for Sunday in his neck of the woods. And he was right, it was good. There was no more overnight snow, Sunday dawned absolutely beautiful, cloudless skies and roads perfectly clear all the way to the race venue in Thirsk. Perfect racing weather. All systems go, or so we thought....

Some time after I'd phoned it seems the organisers had spotted a bit of ice on some part of the course and the consensus of opinion was that it was too dangerous to race. To say I was livid was an understatement, I'd to drag myself away before I exploded. I'd trained hard for this race, intent on consolidating my position at the top of the 2010 MV75 British 10 mile road race Rankings.  Admittedly, I'm a fell runner so a a few patches of ice might add to the excitement but in no way keeps me from doing what I love doing. Were they frightened of being sued in the event of an accident? Surely not because at the bottom of the Entry Form we all had to sign this:

A bit of ice - up Hebden ghyll

"Declaration – Please enter me for the race as indicated above. I agree that the race organisers will in no way be held responsible for any injury or damage caused to me during the course of the run, and that I am fit and healthy to run".

A much better solution would have been for the organisers to warn runners of any possible danger at whatever point on the course, then left it to the runner's discretion whether to run, or not. Well, that's the way I see it. I certainly would have run.  We drove home disgruntedly, to say the least, and went for a long run up the Ghyll where it was REALLY icy, then out onto the moor before a fast mile down Moor Lane to work things out of our system!
Latest news is that the race date has been re-scheduled to March 20th, 2011. Hope I'm still around to run it!

On the dangers of talking to the Press

 I was rather proud of my Derwentwater 10 mile road race result and thought it merited a paragraph in the Athletics column of our local newspaper so I sent a brief email to them because I’d also found out that beating nearly half the field in 1.21.21 had taken me to the top of the official British MV75 Road Race Rankings which means I'm currently the fastest man of my age in Britain over ten miles and I enclosed a picture of the legendary Kenny Stuart presenting me with a prize for this achievement which I was also very proud of because it isn’t very often someone who’s 78 years old is honoured in this way and the Prats Press must have thought so too because they wanted me to ring this man of theirs with more details so he could do a story about this but I said I didn’t want to talk to this man because I’m not very good at talking to people so I sent a link to my Blog from which I said he could glean as much information as he needed for a cracking good story but he didn’t think that was a very good idea and insisted I phone him because it was urgent and there was nothing to be frightened of so very reluctantly I did phone this man and he asked me all sorts of questions but my answers obviously weren't very important or newsworthy because when the story came out the following day he’d written a whole lot of nonsense that was totally different from things I’d told him and which said I was the top fell runner in Britain after running very fast round Derwentwater but that race wasn’t a fell race at all because I’d run all the way on the road and haven't actually competed in a fell race for over twelve months and he also said I’d won countless fell championships in the past but that was a load of tosh because I’ve only ever won one Fell Championship and that was in 2004 when I won the inaugural English MV70 Fell Racing Championship and to rub more salt in the wound he printed a five year old picture of me running in the World Masters Mountain Running Championships instead of the one I was very proud of with Kenny Stuart who really was a top fell runner and King of the Mountains so all in all I was made to look a right silly old fool among fellow athletes who know exactly what I've run and won but maybe thought I’d actually fed this duff information to the Prats Press in which case I'm probably regarded now as a stupid self-opinionated liar who ought to be having psychiatric treatment in an old peoples home to stop me having delusions of grandeur or dreaming up make-believe stories and pretending I'm still a champion fell runner when all I really am is a geriatric top of the pops over ten miles on the road.

Derwentwater 10 and a birthday weekend

Saturday, a birthday walk.

Ullswater

      Awoke to clear skies and a touch of frost that brought leaves shuttering from the trees. The earth under the Maple was blood red, the driveway under the limes a brilliant yellow akin to that road in the Wizard of Oz.  After a hasty breakfast we hit the trail bound for Steel Knotts, with its castellated rock tower of Pikeawassa, planning to return by the silence and solitude of lonely Fusedale. Ullswater was smooth as glass reflecting trees, high hills, rocky promontories and the deep blue of an almost cloudless sky.

      After recent heavy rain the pier at Howtown was inaccessible. A steamer approached, circling to view the situation, then quickly retreated the way it came. The skipper no doubt realised that under current conditions no could either board or disembark - unless they were prepared to swim!

Birthday girl on Pikeawassa

      Thankfully the steep and slippery path up Steel Knotts was mainly in shade but we still sweated profusely as we toiled to its high point at 1,414ft.  After recent heavy rain sheep basked in the welcome sunshine, loathe to move as we puffed past. The views were clear, sharp and utterly breath-taking. High in the stainless air a hunting Kestrel hovered on trembling wings. From high on the Nab came the distinct roaring of a Red Deer stag in the last stages of the Rut. We posed together for a birthday picture by Pikeawassa's rock tower, regarded as the sharpest summit in Lakeland.

      After ogling the panoramic vistas we descended into the higher reaches of Fusedale. A lone Buzzard dropped silently from the sky onto some unsuspecting prey. The only sounds were of distant streams and the occasional bleating of sheep.  We crossed Groove Gill by the old ruin and descended parallel to Fusedale beck.  High on the hillside towards the upper reaches of Dodd Gill we spotted two Red Deer stags with half a dozen hinds, all being friendly to each other. Their Rut was over. Time to build themselves up again ready for the rigours of winter.

Keswick and the Moot Hall

      We passed Cote Farm, gleaming white among magnificent Larch trees, crossed the bridge and took the path below Bonscale Fell to our base at Ravencragg. Here, after the obligatory cups of reviving tea, my wonderful birthday partner put her cards on display and set about opening her many delightful presents. I'm not allowed to say how old she's become, but suffice to say in tomorrow's run around Derwentwater she'll no longer be racing in the LV60 category!

Sunday, the Derwentwater 10

      Everything went right and I was ready for this race, but still felt nervous going to the start line. We'd driven to Keswick early after a good breakfast of muesli - fortified with a few grapes and half a banana - followed by toast with lashings of my wonderful partner's home made marmalade. The start near Moot Hall in the town centre was half a mile from the changing area at Keswick School, so we walked there and back to loosen our legs and locate the nearest toilets. Back at the school runners were arriving in their hundreds to record the highest number of entries in the race's 51 year history.

2nd LV65

      Lakeland was lit with brilliant sunshine under cloudless skies but there was a cold nip in the air that  prompted me to wear a thermal top under my racing vest as we jogged to the start. And for the first time ever, regardless of how I looked, I wore tight shorts (or are they short tights?) to protect my quads and hamstrings. They were a great success.  

      I placed myself in the middle of the pack and at 12 noon we were away, charging up the main street past Moot Hall bound for the jaws of Borrowdale. The first 5 miles, as far as the bridge over the River Derwent at Grange, are gently undulating so I was able to maintain a fairly even pace as far as the drinks station near Manesty. Then the climbing began, but nothing too viscious and with level bits in between where I could get my breath back before the next gradient. There were notices at the steeper bits saying 'SMILE, CAMERA AHEAD' so we all tried to look as cheerful as humanly possible as we toiled upwards with Catbells towering above and Brandelhow Park in all it's dazzling autumn glory below us. 

Last Maple leaf - waving goodbye

      The views across the lake were positively stunning with the great bulk of Skiddaw silhouetted against the sky ahead and the serrated slopes of Blencathra to the north east. There can be no more scenic race than this. Another hill towards Portinscale slowed me down a bit, then it was a flat, fast mile to the finish by Keswick School. My watch registered 1.21.21 - in 321st place from 585 finishers - which was faster than I'd anticipated so over the moon with that, and delighted to score another MV75 victory after my defeat at Richmond three weeks earlier.

With 'King of the Mountains', Kenny Stuart

Mile splits, according to my Garmin  were:

1.   8.14

2.   7.53
3.   7.44
4.   8.10
5.   8.16
6.   9.31
7.   7.58
8.   8.08
9.   7.53
10.  7.09

       To make it an even more memorable day I was photographed receiving the MV75 prize from that legendary 'King of the Mountains', Kenny Stuart.  I shall cherish that photograph. Well, I would if I could find some way of luring it from Keswick A.C.'s website into one of my picture folders, then into this report!

       Unfortunately, there was a slight problem with later results when the computer went on strike - as they do - so it was not possible for LV65 and LV70 prizes to be awarded until the results can be ratified. Nevertheless, my wonderful partner was highly delighted with her time of 1.39.14 but the second lady in the LV65 category was close to that time too. Time will tell - so to speak - as we eagerly await the final results.
ADDENDUM. Time has now told (!) and in the final results my Longwood partner finished 34 seconds and just seven places behind the LV65 winner, Liz York, but quite happy with her 2nd place performance.  Full results here.

Richmond Castle 10K

The day dawned clear and frosty with brilliant sunshine. A distinct nip in the air prompted many runners to don leg warming tights, rather than shorts. I'd driven into the market square early in order to secure a sunny parking spot adjacent to all that was going on, and where I could stay warm until the very last minute. For more freedom I'd opted to wear shorts.
Shortly before 11am the flow of traffic ceased, the square blocked by hoardes of runners and their supporters.A hooter sounded and the chattering heaving mass surged forward, gathering momentum down the ridiculously steep cobbled hill towards the river.We turned sharp right, off-road through a grassy section called 'The Batts' where we'd hopefully get our second wind before crossing the river and beginning the long uphill section towards Catterick Garrison.We rustled through fallen leaves with sunlight shafting through the trees onto a kaleidoscope of multi-coloured vests and gaudy T-shirts. "See on the polished stones it danced, like childhood laughing as it went" (Shelley) was an apt description of the River Swale flashing blue and white with diamond glints between its grassy banks.

As we began to climb, the early race banter faded away, turning instead to heavy breathing and rasping grunts. Some who'd sprinted off too fast were already reduced to a walk as the field began to spread out. We reached the high point around 4km where we could briefly enjoy the luxury of some level running to stabilize our breathing before the next inevitable undulations.

"I thought there must be some bloomin' downhill somewhere" I remarked to fellow runners on a short descent after the welcome water station, but there was another nasty little climb to the 8km marker where, again, many were reduced to walking. Those I spoke to were unanimously agreed that this course has a lot more uphill than downhill, or so it would seem, with an absolutely soul destroying 'coup de grace' over the last ¼ mile up steep cobbles to finish in the Castle grounds. A lady said "I'm a fell runner but in all my races I've never known a finish as hard as that".  I had to agree but, the more challenging the course, the greater our satisfaction in its completion, a fact borne out by hoardes of jubilant runners expressing their joy to all and sundry in the Finish area.  It was a truly wonderful atmosphere.
Based on recent performances I'd calculated that 52 minutes would be an achievable target to aim for, an average of 8.22 per mile. But how do you strike an average on a course with more ups and downs than a fiddler's elbow? A pace bracelet suggested by Westie in a Runner's Forum with my predicted mile times of 8.22, 16.44, 25.06 - and so on - would be fairly useless on any course other than flat (and even more useless at Richmond where I discovered the course was marked in kilometres!). So, what to do? The only solution for me was to plant the figure 52 into the recesses of my racing brain and run to the limits of my current ability. It seemed to work for I crossed the line with 17 seconds to spare in 51.43 - placing 232nd of 452 finishers. 

On a course with over 700ft of ascent I was happy with that - until I saw the results! It transpired that two inconsiderate and over zealous 70 year olds had sneaked home ahead of me and robbed me of a prize! Being officially recorded in the Results as 1st MV75 was little consolation given that I was the only MV75 which realistically meant I hadn't actually beaten anybody! But seriously, the MV70 winner, George Buckley, an unattached runner from Nottingham, is quite phenomenal though his time of 47.04 is some way behind that of the amazing Harold Dobson who finished 69th overall in 2007 to set an MV70 course record of 43.52. The 2nd placed MV70, Ian Barnes of Darlington Harriers had previously beaten me by 2mins 47secs at Kilburn, but I'd reduced that lead to 1min 20 secs in this race. I'm working on him!
So what now? Well, back to the bloomin' drawing board, of course, but not before I've given my old legs a jolly good talking to!
Full results here:

September's running

To summarise, September was a good month running-wise although, largely due to a two week vacation in Switzerland, my actual mileage was only half that of the previous month, a mere 64 miles over nine days. But amongst it was some quality stuff, long altitude runs, fast miles, fartlek sessions, even faster 120m repeats and a hard half marathon at Great Langdale in the Lake District.

The weather was kind too, mainly dry with sunny days and not too cold. Only once, running at 6,000ft round the Daubensee in Switzerland, did I have to wear winter tights to protect my old legs. With lots of strenuous high level walking too in Switzerland I managed to shave off a bit of belly fat too and get back to my best racing weight of 9st 12 lbs.  My pulse, which generally hovers around 44bpm, was down to 38 at the last count which is a sign of reasonable fitness.

People sometimes ask "Do you take  any supplements?" and I have to reluctantly confess that I do, mainly for joint health and more specifically for my knees. One, which I've taken for many years and swear by, is a combined capsule containing 500mg Cod Liver oil and 500mg of Evening Primrose oil.  High strength Glucosamine is something else I've taken for a number of years although not convinced it does any good! Lastly, to control my cholesterol levels, my doctor insists I take statins which, I'm told, inhibit the production of Co-enzyme Q10, so I take a daily capsule of Co-enzyme Q10 to restore the status quo (though I'm not sure whether the latter is actually a supplement, or medication). So that's it. I reckon all other required vitamins, minerals and nutrients are there a-plenty in my varied fresh food diet. Well, that and the occasional glass of Shiraz for the stomach's sake!

Great Langdale ½ Marathon

Friday

Friday night camp

On the day before the race we camped in the Langdale Valley at a beautiful, well hidden spot we haven't used for years and were pleased to find it hasn't changed one little bit.  The site is not on any map, nor is there any sign at the entrance. Even when you drive into the yard scattering the geese and assorted poultry there is no evidence of anywhere to camp. To find it you have to pass through another two gates into an east facing field that catches the early morning sun.  The sum total of facilities amounts to two loos and one very cold water tap. The cost is £3 pppn.  What more could we want?

The afternoon was spent walking one of the hillier parts of the race route, returning past a tranquil tarn dotted with waterfowl against a backdrop of  towering Langdale Pikes. Dusk fell as we fuelled our bodies with a delicious chicken risotto. Soon, a full moon was sailing across the sky, the Plough stood upright against the dark wall of night pointing to the Pole star, an owl hooted in the distance and the campsite dissolved into eerie silence.

Saturday.

Hard work up the 1 in 3 hill to Blea Tarn

We rose at 7.30am to find the field covered in white frost, but the sun was soon on our tent imparting a cosy warmth. Breakfast was a huge pan of porridge laced with sugar and sultanas for both instant and slow release energy. By 9.30 the tent was packed and we were on our way to the race venue outside the New Dungeon Ghyll hotel in Great Langdale where crowds were already gathering. We had two hours to psyche ourselves into a positive frame of mind to tackle the strenuous course, perhaps the toughest but most scenic ½ marathon road race in all England. At such times I gaze at the friendly hills and tell myself this is where I belong, this is my stage, this is where I was born to be, this is where I perfom.

We were surrounded by tall, craggy monoliths many of which I'd climbed on, or raced over, in bygone years - such giants as Raven Crag, Pavey Ark, Pike o' Stickle, Harrison Stickle, Bowfell, Pike o' Blisco, Gimmer Crag and Lingmoor - names that read like a litany to dedicated mountaineers and fell runners. Conditions were absolutely ideal for running, cloudless skies, brilliant sunshine, clear views and just a hint of cooling breeze - but not quite matching the organiser's description as rivalling the Atacama desert for one of the driest places on the planet!  Shortly before 12 noon nearly 550 runners crowded the narrow road for the start of the race, 385 of them in the ½ marathon, the brave remainder set to complete two circuits of the course for a full marathon. After a brief pep talk, which nobody heard, a whistle blew and we were on our way.

Having been officially named as 'the oldest runner ever to run this race' I settled into a steady pace near the rear of the field trying to establish a regular rhythm over the first flat mile. For many of the newcomers who didn't know the route the next ¾ mile of 1 in 3 ascent to the head of the Pass into Little Langdale came as a severe shock and generated one or two choice expletives! I alternated little runs with fast walks and made it to the top feeling reasonably fresh.

My wonderful partner finishing 1st LV60

Descending the other side I found myself running beside a man I vaguely recognized but didn't speak as we were both in the process of getting our second wind. The road here was pleasantly undulating and I was moving fairly easily, perhaps a little too easy, but I was very much aware of another challenging hill I'd sussed out the day before, one that went on for 1½ miles from Skelwith Bridge to High Close Youth Hostel, and also with a 1 in 3 gradient at the start. However, I'd tackled much nastier hills than this in my fell running days so, apart from the initial steep 50 metres or so, I managed to run the rest of it and emerged at the top feeling good and strong. All that was left now was a steep downhill mile and an undulating 2½ miles along the delectable Langdale valley. This area is one of the most popular in the Lake District so there was quite a lot of enthusiastic encouragement and support over those last miles.  Such was this race's reputation that I'd felt a little nervous about running it, wondering how I'd cope with the 2,000ft or so of ascent en route, but I was still feeling strong as I switched into overtaking mode to move up the placings over the finishing stages. I wondered whether I'd taken it too easy at the beginning, whether I could have run it faster if I hadn't been frightened by the race's reputation? Maybe not, for if I'd pushed it earlier I'd probably be wilting towards the finish. I like to think I judged it just right!

The dynamic Longwood duo after the race

I crossed the Finish line feeling quite happy with my time of 2.01.56 - 213th of 385 finishers. My Garmin watch registered 2,888ft of ascent - but I don't believe it! My Anquet mapping system is perhaps nearer the mark with 2,276ft. One of my prizes, a book, accidentally got left on top of the car while the wine was being stowed safely away. So if anyone found it lying in the road somewhere in the Langdale valley, it's mine! Oh, and to crown a truly magnificent day my wonderful Longwood partner completed a memorable double as she duly romped home 1st LV60 in 2.23.35 - thus further boosting our stores of wine!  It had been a very memorable day indeed when both of us were magically 'raised to more than we can be'.

N.B. The chap I vaguely recognized descending into Little Langdale was, as I thought, Andrew Edwards of BBC Radio Leeds whom I'd corresponded with in the past but never met. It's nice to put faces to names. We'd a brief chat at the Finish during which I was introduced to his attractive wife and a friend of theirs, Annette Fraser from 'flat as a pancake London', who'd tackled the hills bravely to clock a creditable 2.05.51.  The long-legged Andrew in his trademark yellow shorts was just behind in 2.07.10.

Full results here: 

Running high

Eiger - the smoking mountain

Switzerland has not had the best of weather this summer, which was bad for the tourist trade, but it turned good for us at the beginning of September. Except for one night of heavy rain that continued until lunchtime the next day we enjoyed warm sunny days for forays into the high mountains of the Bernese Oberland.  Farmers and shepherds were all busy cutting grass and there was a constant smell of new mown hay drying in the sun. But after sundown at 6.30pm it was bitterly cold, particularly at Kandersteg where we camped at 3,500ft above sea level.

Running the Eiger Trail

At Grindelwald we camped at the Eigernordwand site directly under the Eiger's towering and foreboding north wall.  We ran the Eiger Trail again as far as the glacier, trundled down a rough path to the tourist trap of Kleine Scheidegg, then swept gloriously back downhill to Grindelwald. Four American paragliders came floating down from the Eiger under their multi-coloured canopies, skimming the tree-tops and landing on the trail ahead of us.  "How the heck did you get up there" I asked.  "We climbed up!" was their simple answer.

At the Bachalpsee

We walked a circular route from Bussalp to the top of the Faulhorn and back via Bachalpsee and the rocky trail through Feld and Uf Spitzen. Marmots shrieked at us, black butterflies danced about our path, Alpine Choughs jostled for scraps at the Faulhorn restaurant and Ravens cronked across the craggy heights. Back at Bussalp cows and their calves mingled with tourists queueing for the postbus.

Top of Mannlichen with Jungfrau behind

We couldn't understand why we'd never been up the Mannlichen before on the longest gondola cableway in Europe, possibly the world.  It took half an hour to reach the 2,229m summit from which the views were truly breathtaking, particularly of the Eiger, Monch, Jungfrau and the Schilthorn with its panoramic revolving restaurant featured in the James Bond movie, On Her Majesty's Secret Service.  Six handicapped people in motorised wheelchairs were racing towards the viewing area, one of them accompanied by a wee terrier determined to get there first.  We haven't a clue how they got up there! We returned to Grindelwald by the Romanticaweg, a winding path through heather, juniper and tall pines where woodpeckers were feeding on the open cones. Grasshoppers rasped in the warm sunshine while Marmots proclaimed their territorial rights from the shadowy slopes of Tschuggan.

The Gallihorn

Kandersteg is a little higher than Grindelwald. It doesn't have the Eiger towering over it but is surrounded by a host of other tall mountains, First, Stand, Bunderspitz, Gallihorn, Bire, Blumlisalp, Frundenhorn and Doldenhorn, so its hours of sunshine are somewhat limited.  Normally, while camping, I'm up making breakfast at first light but there's little incentive to do that when the temperature is down to zero and the flysheet is dripping with condensation. On the only wet and windy night some hungry animal, most likely a fox, put three small holes in the tent in its quest to get at our food.  It failed.

Phallic rock tower on the Doldenhorn

The signpost at the start of the steep climb to the Doldenhorn hutte said '2 hours' but we did it in 1½, so reckoned we must be getting fitter.  We climbed way beyond the hut to get good pictures of a snowclad Blumlisalp and the leaning phallic rock tower on the Doldenhorn ridge. A falcon flashed past in pursuit of some smaller bird until the two became one.  Other birds, like large grouse with lighter bars on their wings, flushed from the scrubby scree ahead of us.  But strangest of all was something we 'thought' was a large bird travelling at great speed parallel to a high cliff on our way down. As it sped past we realised it was making a peculiar humming noise and was in fact some kind of missile.

Signing the visitor's book on the Gallihorn

On a day of nasty gripes and diarrhoea, and after a certain amount of washing, we climbed the Gallihorn, an impressive looking 2,284m peak directly overshadowing the town of Kandersteg. Emerging from a very narrow and rocky woodland path onto a wider trail we were confronted by a large flock of sheep about to be herded down that very path we'd just vacated.  Ahead were warnings of stonefalls and a diversionary path had been created. We ignored the diversion. A Marmot scurried to safety under a huge boulder.  The path rose to an exposed grassy tongue where a signpost said 'Gallihorn 30 mins' but it took us but 20 to stride onto its summit.  A cross had been erected alongside a huge cairn with a recess containing a visitors book.  Cloud drifted around us, intermittently clearing to give magnificent views of the great cleft of the Gasterntal valley, with the Bahnhorn towering over it, and the frightening vertical drop down thousands of feet to the town below.

On the Alpschelehabel

Though somewhat reluctant, in view of continuing nasty squitters and not being able to sleep in fear of further spasms, we set off next day to climb the Bunderspitz, a 2,546m peak over which the sun said goodbye to us each evening.  It was another gloriously sunny day so it was warm work toiling up its flanks.  Two hunters crouched quietly behind a large boulder were presumably waiting for the appearance of Steinbok. Eight other people had beaten us to the summit, including two small children! Since last year a new cross has been erected at the summit so, of course, it had to be photographed. Returning, we traversed round by the Bunderschrinde, onto a lofty lookout called Alpschelehabel where we ate lunch, then descended to the valley floor by the Allmenalp cable car.

Running round the Daubensee

On our final day of activity we decided, in view of an impending half marathon in the Lake District, that it was time to do a serious high level run.  We opted for a figure of eight route that included a circuit of the Daubensee, a lake who's surface is around the 2,224m contour.  To start this 11 mile run we took the cable car to Sunnbuel (1,934m) and in ½ hour were passing a deserted Schwarenbach Berghotel where a French waiter bid us a hearty 'Bonjour'. In another ½ hour we were commencing our run round the Daubensee passing richly clad tourists, mostly Germans, invariably clicking along with a pair of trekking poles.  I'll admit, I've never come to terms with trekking poles which, for the majority of people, are totally unnecessary and little more than a gimmick.  At an exposed section a couple hanging onto a wire cable for support seemed quite shocked when I slid past them on sloping rocks without breaking stride!  At that height it was bitterly cold so it was imperative, wearing only minimal running clothes, to keep moving.  Pretty soon, the circuit of the lake was complete and we were heading back to Sunnbuel by a much less used, but longer, trail. We missed our scheduled cable car by a mere minute but luckily the sun was at its height, warming our bodies and drying sweaty clothes.

Bums and Blumlisalp

There were other things we did in Switzerland and other places we went.  I haven't worked out how many thousands of feet we climbed but it must have been one heck of a lot, all in the most breathtaking scenery and mostly in warm sunshine. On reaching home my scales told me I'd shed 5lbs of blubber but whether this was due to much increased activity or problems with my plumbing I'm not sure. Probably a combination of both.
At current exchange rates it was a fairly expensive holiday but for outdoor enthusiasts who love the high places it's as good value for money as you'll get anywhere.  Roll on next year!