Boxing Day

Tower Bridge photo courtesy of Alan Scholefield

London Marathon day is Christmas Day for distance runners. They collect, they swarm, they flock and mass, with huge red kitbags, cushioned shoes, nervous faces and clear bright eyes, to Greenwich and they join the 26.2 mile long, all-day festival which livens London and makes everyone involved proud and humble.

It's the day after. Legs of wood . Still a bit muted and stunned. Debriefs were had yesterday, at fever pitch,over lager and Lucozade and crisps and bagels. Cramps were considered, fuelling fails were found at fault and smiles were infectious. Bests, worsts, and celeb spots and sunburn.

I read Scott Overall's blog just now. It made my heart big and happy. He makes me proud to be a runner. None of your British Cycling pulling out cos the win was unachievable. "I didn’t want to DNF so I just got to the finish" You sir, get paid very little to be at the top end of your sport, yet your attitude is the same as every first-timer and club runner and veteran in the race. Hats off for being honest and real.

http://www.scottoverall.com/blog/london-marathon-2014/

I must get up now. Sitting down for more than ten minutes is far from comfortable. 

Roving Running Reporter

Here's a link through to a race report I penned for my club. It was a proud proud day for us as the ladies were ranked 5th after the first British Championships series counter

http://glossopdaleharriers.blogspot.co.uk/

Toughing it out

Here I am in the middle of marathon training. That I got here is a bit of a surprise to me, and I'm pleased I've even made it this far without chucking it all in in favour of fell racing, or picked up an injury.
I'm here at the top of the hill, right in that period four weeks before race day. Behind me a steadily climbing slope of mileage, lots of it put in on dark cold wet roads, which I look back on with some satisfaction. However this is always going to be the tough part, maintaining high miles for a couple more weeks and fending off bugs, fatigue and loss of mojo. There's some extra tough in the mix in the form of a big angry bruise on my left hip, right on those muscles which always sing with pain even when I'm training to normal levels. Skidded off the bike on wet cobbles. Bang, extra pain for your intensest weeks. But suffering is what marathoning is all about.
I've had to fight the urge to wave the white flag, and even told myself Askwith-style this morning 'if you can't do this training run in the cold fog with an aching hip then you're not going to complete your marathon in your target time'
So I'm hanging on, clinging on in the hope that no more big disasters arrive in the next few weeks. I've got the added frisson of being in London to get on terms with my least favourite part of the course next week. I'm gritting my teeth already.

Into battle

The title refers not to the battle between runners and running clubs, more to the battle between runner and the weather, the terrain, the map and the clock. Fourteen glossopdale runners headed to the Shropshire hills on what I know to be statistically the coldest weekend of the year. Our aim, the mini-series of races hosted by Mercia fellrunners each year. The short Titterstone Clee and the medium Long Mynd Valleys. As a relative novice at the medium races, I was apprehensive, as a clubmate had used the word 'horrendous' to describe the last section if the course.
Saturday dawned cold and bright, and as we sat eating porridge, toast and eggs in the beautiful dining hall at Wilderhope Manor youth hostel, a flurry of snow was observed through the fine sixteenth century windows. There's only one way to prepare mentally for a fell race on winter and that is to laugh. The practical preparations saw a hush fall on the ladies dorm, as each of us pondered choices of leggings, waterproof coats, gloves and a set of warm clothing for afterwards. One even remarked 'i'll be packing normal clothes then for after if we're going for a cream tea' me, I stuck to tracky bottoms and my down jacket. It was at this point the selection of armour and weapons sprung to mind. Wind and waterproof armour, studded soled weapons, sugary and slow-release weapons. And some left over for tomorrow.
I predictably enjoyed the Titterstone Clee race, a traditional fell race in the simplest of fashions. 'see that hill; get to the top, touch the trig and get back down here' marred by the new Regulations imposed by our governing body which saw racers get colder than necessary as we were counted into the start area and briefed in no uncertain terms as to how to wear our race number and indicate our completion of the course. Thanks to my legs having chilled off, the first few minutes were hard work, my legs not giving me the usual lightfooted quick ascent. The snow blew at us head-on and I grimaced and bore it across soft springy terrain with a few rocks to keep one alert. Approaching the top, I noted how many returning ladies passed by, which was two. Splendid. I relished the wind-assisted descent and dug in and refused to give a place up on the last field as I heard splashy footsteps behind me. Charlie, a clubmate, had other ideas and manfully beat me in the last few hundred metres. A box of toffees for my third lady position and off to Ludlow for a cream tea.
Sundays forecast was much drier though I still feared Winter so decided on a backpack with many extra layers and handwarmers and cheese and nuts and water for the race. I'm very glad I didn't choose fleece-lined leggings as it later turned out to be much warmer than we'd expected. Why on earth I didn't expect a steep start as we stood at the base of a steep-sided valley I'll never know, bit off we went at a steady pace. We being Tom and I. We'd decided to treat the race as a fun run about on the hills and to hell with competition, he due to recent injury and I due to my inexperience. Sticking together makes for a mental comfort blanket and we had spent some time looking at possible route choices the night before.
 I soon realised I had not got the pace I'd hoped for in the first few miles and began to worry, though to his credit Tom seemed unfazed and wisely offered me jelly babies. I then set about fuelling up with solid food both to keep me from further fretting and enable me to acquit myself on the later climbs. On one fuelling stop Lindsey from our group shot past us, giving me a scare - I normally finish races a few minutes ahead of her. It gave us a kick..we came to what we'd identified as a decision point and Tom wanted to follow the herd (and Lindsey) it took me three times of asking to get us off onto our preferred route, hot on the heels of the local runners, who on seeing us explained the advantage we could gain on this line. We smugly popped out of the next valley about 50 metres ahead of Lins. My strength had returned and not a minute too early...two more monster hills to cross. I love climbing and Tom loves descending, I'll spare you the details but we made it over the monsters, I enjoying it more than Tom, we however made a poor choice of descending line to the finish, and with our team-mates voices yelling encouragement in earshot, tumbled and cursed through high bracken whilst Lins shot out 20metres from the finish line to pip us to the finish.
I learned from the Long Mynd Valleys. I learned that I worry too much and it holds me back. I learned that I'm still a decent climber, that good route choice is worth more than speed and that reccying the finishing descent is a cracking good idea. And that Tom is an all round decent bloke for putting up with my first-half wobbler. Oh, and gorse splinters take a while to come out. 

Highlights

It's the end of the year. I started this post earlier, and now it's time to finish it. This time last year I was hobbled with a stress fracture in my foot and wondering what on earth 2013 would be like. One thing I vowed to do once fit again was to race more, and I did that. Mainly fellrunning,  though there have been some unexpected highlights on the hard black stuff too. Lots of fellrunning fulfils my other promise to myself which was to enjoy my running rather then push the mileage. So here they are, my running highlights

Salford 10k - March - new PB
This was my 10k PB attempt after recovery and a fine example of how competition pushes athletes to succeed. My training buddy Caity and I were both gunning for PBs and our clubmates egged us on, not least as I was racing in the colours of my 'road club'. I was ready to use her as a rabbit and mentally up for a slog of a race through some of the less scenic parts of salford. Cold, dry and still conditions at the start and we headed off shoulder to shoulder. She pulled away at 2k but I settled into my natural 10k pace which I'd practised at a club handicap run a few weeks earlier. I caught her at 7k and we muttered encouragement to one another, Caity telling me to pull away and get the win, though by then I was giving it a lot and just hanging on to her pace. I hung on until about 800 to go and she steamed off. I chased again and crossed 4 seconds behind her, we both PB'd. Job done. That's the last time I got that close to Caity as her stellar rise was beginning. She's now up there amongst English fell champions and we have to fight off the teams trying to poach her. She's still a hell of a rabbit to train with.

Back to the fells - March
By January I was capable of running for an hour and I was taking good advice and staying on the cautious side. I had a half marathon in the calendar for the end of March and I was pretty confident I would be up to it by then. Early March I was invited to Wales with the Glossopdalers, to the Rhinogs, a lovely overlooked part of the Snowdonia National Park. I figured I'd join the shorter/slower runs and perhaps have a day off if it felt too much. I'd not run at all on the hills at this point either so I was slightly worried it'd do my foot no good. How wrong could I have been - I managed to stick with the group for 2 of the 4 peaks on the long route and have immense fun in the freshly-fallen snow. I was surprised to spend 4 - 5 hours out in the snow and yet not get cold feet at all. The pace was a good 'social' pace, plenty of stops for photos and navigation, the kind of fell-running which is basically fast hiking. The second day we did a short run up Moel Famau in mid-Wales and to my delight, I managed a good run up it with the group. It was as if I'd never been away from the fells, and set the tone for the rest of the year.

Midweek Madness
In the summertime, all the little village races start to pop up in the calendar. My idea was to toughen up for the triathlon and I thought it'd be a good idea to do a many of them as possible, to get a kind of speed session in once a week or so. There were a good few around and about the peaks and I can't remember how many I did in total but I enjoyed them all with the exception of Goyt's Moss which just seemed to have too much flat/runnable terrain in it. ah...'runnable' ...the bane of the midweek race. It's the stop/start/up/down/walk/run/hurtle which I think appeals to me in the 'short' category races. I think my favourite may have been Cracken Edge, or maybe Hope Wakes..either way I love the social side of the midweek races and had lots of fun with club friends. Got a few bottles of wine for ladies team prizes as well, thanks to the amazing Caity, the super strong and determined Lindsay, and my foolhardiness and competitive streak.

Cross Bay Challenge - Zen running

I had entered but not run this race before. Injury had prevented me from doing it, so I Had Business with the race. I'd spectated before and wondered what it'd be like, running on sand completely exposed to the elements. It's a once a year, tightly scheduled race across the bay which you're only safe to walk on when following a guide. I was frankly afraid it might injure me but I was fit and in the middle of triathlon prep and was really looking forward to running a race as part of the plan. At the start I did my usual sizing up of the competition/nervously eating and checking my gear. I wasn't sure how cold, hot or windy it'd be at all. Anyway the first challenge was that the start was delayed half an hour because 'the tide hadn't gone out fast enough'. Nothing like a reminder of the fact that we were at the mercy of the notorious Morecambe Bay tides to put the willies up us. Anyway, off we went led out by a quad bike. Mud, sticky mud, and lots of standing water. I set off at 8min miles as I felt like pacing it easy and just enjoying the scenery. Running across a massive tidal bay is so quiet. Very quiet, and very peaceful. Even in the fells it's not that peaceful. The view is very samey so I kind of zoned out and became very calm, very good for running. The field quickly strung out and something made me want to greet each person I passed or who passed me, don't know why, I guess it had something to do with the loneliness of the place. After crossing some channels I was joined by a barefoot runner, nice and chatty, and we spied the main river crossing up ahead. We had a right old laugh trying to plough through the water and slowed to a walk as we all had to, the water being waist deep at the middle. Mike and I chatted and I told him I was feeling good, that I reckoned I could catch a couple of ladies, and with his encouragement we drew up to a group ahead containing a veteran lady. I had eaten a little Soreen banana loaf about 45 mins in and took a gel. The ten mile point approached and I felt good, so I bid Mike a 'see you at the finish' and took off in pursuit of a younger runner in a bright vest I could just make out in the distance. I thought I had no chance of catching her but to my surprise I did, in the last mile, and I squelched through the sucky mud at the shore a happy lady. Turns out I was the 'first veteran' which I find an odd prize, as it seems unfair to take a prize which doesn't feel like mine, but I now have a pretty trophy and it rounded off a very enjoyable race. Afterwards I debriefed with a colleague of mine who said she found it tough going underfoot. I think the amount of fell racing I'd been doing has set me up well to cope with that although I wore road shoes because wet ,compacted sand is not soft. The men's winner was a fellrunner too. I'm hoping that my club will have got so fed up hearing me evangelise about this excellent race that it will be in next year's Club Championships races. It's a well organised race with very friendly volunteers, the drinks and safety stations are quad bikes with trailers staffed by local people and their kids. You can even get proper ale at the end and sit by the sea drinking it . Overall a race to make you smile.


Kentmere horseshoe - learning the lakes
It's all well when you're reasonably successful in your backyard and I wanted to see how I matched up in a 'proper's fell race against 'proper' teams. Off to the lakes I went with the Glossopdale crew, feeling a little nervous at the prospect of my first Medium rated fell race on proper Lakeland terrain. I decided that taking it easy was the best option over 12 miles in the heat. I don't think I've ever sweated as much as I did on the ascent up to Yoke via Buck Crag but I found a good pace over the first few tops. I lost my mojo entirely on the first rocky descent and cursed my inner chimp as about five runners passed me. I cursed my inner intestines when I got stitch after a speedy descent  down from high street summit, and two ladies passed me as I gasped and winced along. The last few miles were a fab grassy descent to tracks through farmland and I picked up my pace, knowing the end was close. It wasn't that close, but I felt good enough to catch one lady and hurtled down to the finish and straight into the stream for a cooldown. We all ambled up to the hall for tea and cakes and the presentation. Then someone told us the presentation'd be in the field so we strolled down to hear who had won. We came through the gate to find the prize giving already underway, and the ladies team prize being announced. I know we all thought we'd heard wrong when he said 'glossopdale ladies' ..wow. against real Lakeland clubs! We knew we'd got a strong top ten finish from Caity but mine and Lins' much more humble times, really? A great learning race for me with a lovely surprise at the end, I'm proud of us all for that one race above many others.




Ups and Downs
It's not been all superb success and fun though. I think my worst race was the Rivington Trail Half. A few years ago I ran it and to my surpise was in the top 20 ladies. I thought that given my improving form and my good summer on the hills I'd be in good shape to bother the top 5. Oh yeah pride comes before a fall, the saying goes. I arrived after a week during which I's been feeling a bit snuffly and dizzy, but looking around the size of the field, and knowing from experience that it'd be mainly road runners I still thought I'd be in with a shout. I had a good first mile which is all a steady climb, and did some tricksy tactical overtaking at the end of descents and climbs, but at about 7 miles in I just started to go backwards. I even got a stitch. From there on I just hung on grimly. My time was ten minutes better than last time but I just felt rotten. A lesson learned about setting my sights high, I won't do that again.

It's not only at races that I've had fun. Day-long tours of the region around Bettmeralp on the club holiday, hill reps in Reddish Vale with my clubmate Tom and his dog, off-road  lone ambles along the river Tame in the early morning and a torchlit dash around the local park have all kept me happy. My abiding feeling is that even though I set out just to have fun, I did achieve some good results. I worry that when I push up to marathon distance again in 2014 that I might lose my edge but I'll just have to try and find the right balance.

Crepuscular Commuting

This is how I feel most days on my commute. This isn't a rant, it's just rang true and I wanted to share it. It came from a piece by an Aussie cyclist.

"Every time I see a four-wheel-drive or a ute, I expect them to do the unexpected. I seek out eye-contact with oncoming motorists to see if they plan to turn across my path without warning. I keep away from parked cars, fearing I'll be "doored". No matter what speed I ride, my hands are poised above my brakes."

I have to say most drivers I have encountered on the Manchester roads are considerate but there's something about dark winter mornings which seems to make people drive like loons.I got to wondering what my 'riding state of mind' might be doing to my stress levels - I arrive at work all keyed-up and full of adrenalin..then sit a bit zombied at my desk half an hour later. Having said all this I enjoy my  commute as on my bike I have control over my arrival time, and it wakes my legs up and keeps them in nice condition.

Turning my back on my first love

Running. My default state of being. Cycling, my new game, my new mode of transport, the challenge to my girly lack of mechanical nous.
I had a stern word with myself at the beginning of May. I had conquered my injury goblin and returned to form, and chucked myself headlong down and up the hills around glossop in the hugely enjoyable midweek fell races the crazy folk of the Peaks usefully and enthusiastically lay on. I did well. But a nagging voice whispered caution. Triathletes are so called, because they tri hard to be good at sports they aren't naturally disposed to, in my case riding a bicycle fast.
My salvation came from two sources. One, the happy realisation that my fell running clubmates also enjoy a spin about t'hills on a fast bike. Not only that, we have a bona fide hardened cycling guru in our number. Rod has a fearsome reputation, so it was with a little trepidation I turned up for a 'social ride' one Saturday morning. All my fears were chucked out with the new shorts I had bought - yes it was still Winter in May - ten of us set off at a chatty pace for romiley and the fabled Policini cyclists cafe. The first major thing I learned was that riding uphill slowly in an easy gear is, well, easy. And nice. Then the whole peloton feeling kicked in. I felt safe, protected, supported, and special. Cars waited politely before passing us, or being waved and nodded on. I can imagine their occupants shaking their heads to one another, "look at those MAMILs, no hang on. That's a bird. Poor lass, oh lots of them are birds.."
Chatting and riding was also a totally new experience. Lovely. It's great to be inducted into a new tribe, and Rod did it just right. He was firm on the rules, which makes perfect sense on the roads, and enthusiastic and confidence-building when it came to technical skills - "go on, right up to her wheel, no Right Up..*pushes me along*..like that. *zoe does face of fear* ...etc.
Don't even get me started on Gilbert cake at Polocini.

So, the other factor. Now I come to it, I can't decide. It's either the weather, or the man I'm spending my time with, who's threatening to beat me in the BUPA ride end of June, but also well up for a date ride.
Thanks to these two things I ticked off two big ticks in May. First : I took Mathilde on the train to the Isle of Arran and rode up and down the coast on a mizzly gusty afternoon, all on my own. I got through it by imagining its much nicer than the wind Marianne Vos must have to ride into. Second tick: rode 40 miles, with Rod's Social Ride Club, including the climb from Ladybower up to Snake Summit, during which I came over all Froomey and shot off up the slope to catch a lone veteran. Silly me, didn't save any matches and blew up on the final pull and let a boy beat me to the top.
So, I feel more prepared for triantics, I feel I can ride properly, I'm getting the hang of the gears, the balance, the shoes, the bollockings for having a mucky bike (sorry Rod) but now there's the pressing matter of the water and its frigidity. Aquathlon time is two weeks off, and my fingers and toes have still not felt the brisk chill of the Quays.
Plates in the air. Always with the plates.