I had a go at the resurrected Manchester Marathon back in something like 1992. The usual story - got injured, couldn't train enough, turned up under-prepared.
Sound familiar?
Eventually staggered round in something like 3:45.
Anyway, ever since I've harboured an ambition to do a sub 3hr Marathon, convinced that I had one in me. I entered the new Greater Manchester Marathon in 2012 but that clashed with the Fellsman. Big Shitty Marathon versus the Fellsman: no contest.
So, the Blackpool was at the right time, was reputed to be flat and was as close to the BSM "atmosphere" as I ever want to get. Big Shitty Marathon atmosphere versus atmosphere on summiting Cribyn alone and exhausted during the Brecon 40; or cresting Stoodley Pike in freezing sleet and clag; or running through the night on the Bob Graham Round or The Lakeland 100 or The Fellsman: no contest.
As it turns out I think I turned up to this one underprepared as well. Trying to prepare for fell races, ultras and the Marathon led me into a bit of a jack-of-all-trades scenario. I'd better make sure I get some hills in now or I'll get another good beating in The Fellsman in a couple of weeks time. Having said that, the next two weeks are not going to make that much difference - it's what I have/haven't done in the last few months that are going to count.
I'm not going to give a mile by mile account of the Blackpool Marathon: basically we ran one way along the front, ran the other way, ran back again and again and again. I'd like to record a few observations, though.
1) On the day before the race I felt quite seriously lethargic. After resting Friday and Saturday I should have been feeling relatively rested. I genuinely though I was coming down with something. By 8pm I was whacked out, and ready for bed. Carol said I looked ill. I have been wondering all year whether I have overtrained and I was seriously wondering whether I should put myself through a marathon. When the alarm went at 6am on race day I seriously contemplated not getting up; "You're not up to this. Give yourself a break..." etc etc. Once I was up and shaved and breakfasted I felt fine. This has happened to me before and I reckon there's a huge psychosomatic element to it. It's my body giving me a get out if I want it. By willing myself to get up in the morning, body thinks, so we're doing this thing then? and it snaps back into line. One of the things I like about long distance stuff is that there is a lot of willpower and mental strength involved, as well as genetic determinism, which is something I've talked about before.
2) I can't believe that having as much indian ink as some pople have injected into their arms and legs is not detrimental to performance....
3) One of the big talking points amongs the chattering, twittering running classes at the moment is "footstrike". Forefoot striking is very much in vogue at the moment and if you're an inveterate and proud heel-striker like me, that attracts a lot of tut-tutting and shaking of the head: "you'll get injured," "Forefoot striking is far more efficient," blar de blar and so forth until the next big thing comes along. But I've taken to observing running styles and I've identified a new style. There was the most pronounced example of it bounding along the promenade today. This is the "I'm-going-to-run-on-my-tiptoes-because I've-read-it-on-a-forum-that-this-is-how-the-elite-run" style. I hope it worked for you, buddy.
3) I've recently read a book recommended on one of the ultra-running forums: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Im-Here-Win-Champions-Performance/dp/1455502677
It looks very cheesy and Ironman champion Chris McCormack will not be to everyone's taste, but I found it a great read. It's part biography and part training tips, but I found his emphasis on the psychological aspects of racing refreshing, interesting and informative. He goes into great detail about mental battles and trying to psyche his competitors. I had a few "Iron Wars" myself on the roads of Blackpool.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zOVGVMiwPSA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oB2UDkXeVtY
I won them all of course, but then part of the psychology is choosing the wars that you can win! Top tip: if you catch somebody, sit about ten or twelve feet behind them for a couple of minutes, then pass them wide and fast. Don't let them even think that they can hang on to you.
4) There is no "wall".
I'm glad I didn't do the Coledale Horseshoe fell race the day before, as I don't think I would have made my sub 3 hr target. As it is I had to blow my ring off in the last 5 miles and sprint the finishing straight. It's a good job I looked up and saw the clock when I did: a second later and I would have blown it! The chip time has me at 3:59:52. My Garmin at 3:59:56; the gun time at 3:00:00.
24th overall and second V50. I didn't stay around to see if I'd get a prize. I was already pissed off with the organisation - all part of the BSM experience. i don't think any prize would have compensated for the unpleasantness of hanging around Blackpool for a second more than was necessary!
http://www.ukresults.net/2013/blackmara.html
I should have pushed a few rows forward at the start so that I started on the line. Anyway, I'm having that as a sub 3 hr marathon. I might do another one next year and do some more focussed training just to make sure.
A great day out. And I've actually got a nice bit of vest-shaped sunburn!
Sunday, 7 April 2013
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
Wuthering Hike 2013
That bloke Marc Laithwaite keeps banging on about how doing long slow runs produces long slow runners, and about ultra-plodders and about being able to run long doesn't improve your results because the fast runners will already have finished etc etc.
So this winter I've minimised the great big plodding days out of 6, 7 and 8 hrs, giving a lot more time to intervals, threshold runs and generally higher intensity.
As the Hike approached I did begin to wonder how I'd do.
Not as well as I would have liked, as it turned out; I think I might have to try a few of those big plods before The Fellsman.
It was a great day out, don't get me wrong, on one of my favourite courses. A great day out - I just would have preferred it to be about 20 minutes shorter. I was very pleased (and surprised, almost shocked) at my 4:45 last year. I would have been happy to repeat that, or better still knock a minute or two off.
I don't normally get overtaken very much in the latter stages of races. But Chris Davies overtook me about four times - the last I saw of him during the race he was virtually sprinting up the climb to Stoodley Pike. Going up Crimsworth Dean they were passing me in droves, including people I thought I'd seen the last of at Widdop. Hey ho.
Around Crimsworth Dean I fell in with a chatty bloke from Redcar. I've mentioned before I don't know how people can talk and run. I definitely don't know how they can talk and run after 26 miles. I was right at the limit and I needed to concentrate to get just the right pace to go as fast as I could but without blowing up. Stopping to chat wasn't helping one bit. I know ultra-running is one big happy family and all that and that road runners are all up their own arses and don't let on and all that - but I was discussing the fucking weather while Kev Perry and all the rest were strolling past.
Going up Top o' Stairs Redcar was telling me about his mate who was also running. "He'll be a fair way behind. He's a bit of a plodder. He's fifty one. He's fit for a fifty one year old, though."
We were still together at Penistone Hill. Anyway, I thought, "I'll show you a fit fifty one year old, sonny." And I did, too.
I finished in 5 hours and one second and people keep ribbing me about how that one second must hurt. No, I don't give a toss about the one second, it's the fifteen fucking minutes that pisses me off...
So this winter I've minimised the great big plodding days out of 6, 7 and 8 hrs, giving a lot more time to intervals, threshold runs and generally higher intensity.
As the Hike approached I did begin to wonder how I'd do.
Not as well as I would have liked, as it turned out; I think I might have to try a few of those big plods before The Fellsman.
It was a great day out, don't get me wrong, on one of my favourite courses. A great day out - I just would have preferred it to be about 20 minutes shorter. I was very pleased (and surprised, almost shocked) at my 4:45 last year. I would have been happy to repeat that, or better still knock a minute or two off.
I don't normally get overtaken very much in the latter stages of races. But Chris Davies overtook me about four times - the last I saw of him during the race he was virtually sprinting up the climb to Stoodley Pike. Going up Crimsworth Dean they were passing me in droves, including people I thought I'd seen the last of at Widdop. Hey ho.
Around Crimsworth Dean I fell in with a chatty bloke from Redcar. I've mentioned before I don't know how people can talk and run. I definitely don't know how they can talk and run after 26 miles. I was right at the limit and I needed to concentrate to get just the right pace to go as fast as I could but without blowing up. Stopping to chat wasn't helping one bit. I know ultra-running is one big happy family and all that and that road runners are all up their own arses and don't let on and all that - but I was discussing the fucking weather while Kev Perry and all the rest were strolling past.
Going up Top o' Stairs Redcar was telling me about his mate who was also running. "He'll be a fair way behind. He's a bit of a plodder. He's fifty one. He's fit for a fifty one year old, though."
We were still together at Penistone Hill. Anyway, I thought, "I'll show you a fit fifty one year old, sonny." And I did, too.
I finished in 5 hours and one second and people keep ribbing me about how that one second must hurt. No, I don't give a toss about the one second, it's the fifteen fucking minutes that pisses me off...
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Winter Hill fell race. It's a little hill, but a big race.
I could see Winter Hill from the house I was born in. When I moved away to University, or later to work, whenever I saw it's distinctive whaleback shape and the lights of the mast I knew I was nearly home. And I've been tramping the moors roundabout since I was thirteen. It's where I learned to navigate by pacing through the tussocks across the featureless moorland to some invisible stream junction.
So it's great that there is a fell race up there. Well, there are a few actually, including the famous Rivington Pike race, one of the oldest fell races in the calendar, plus our club fell race and the hendersons End race, also organised by Lostock. But the Winter Hill fell race is the big one. It's long and hard and takes in a lot of climbs and some difficult terrain. It's the first weekend in February too, so the weather usually adds its bit to the test.
This year it was a pretty bleak day, but to be honest it looked worse than it actually was. It's just that people are permanently on the verge of panic now over every slight fluctuation in the weather.
As I said in my last post I wasn't sure about my form. I'd been doing a fair bit of training but it hadn't seemed to be giving obvious results in the couple of shorter races I'd done since Christmas, namely the Jubilee Plunge and the Ashurst Beacon race.
I ran it hard, hard, hard. I had to let everyone go at the start - I estimated about forty odd in front of me at the bottom of the rocky road. I just can't start off fast. Mind you, neither can half of those in front of me because I finished off in 23rd place. There's a lorra lorra uphill in the first few miles. In fact, most of the first 3.5 miles is gradually uphill. But going through the bog and the tussocks after the Pike things usually settle down and I got into the old chuggernaut rhythm. I knew that if I could pace myself and hang on to the fellas in front of me then I would almost certainly 'ave 'em on the downhill to CP3. And so it was. I seem to descend very well and so I can usually go down pretty quick, gaining a lot of places but recovering at the same time. I usually lose all the places again on the next uphill, but I've been trying to work on that, so on the murder mile up the ramp I was determined that no-one was going to pass me. In fact no-one passed me on a climb for the rest of the race. Though the longer the race, the more I can hold my own. Good running economy I think they call it. I found myself chasing Darren Fishwick of Chorley, who I'd last seen as he passed me near the finish of the Jubilee Plunge - his 100th race of 2012. I was just behind him at the trig point and I thought I'd get him on the descent to he footbridge - especially with my "oblique line". rather than run along and then drop steeply down, I often find it faster to run a more gradual oblique descent.
So I thought: "Heh heh heh, I'll see you at the bottom Darren." Only, my oblique line across the north face of Winter Hill was blanketted with snow and I could have cried as I stumbled and slithered my way down!
I passed Dazza going through the flagged section and had a good climb up to Noon Hill. But I stupidly played follow me leader and went straight on when I knew I should have swung right. I only fully realised where I should have been when I saw Darren's Everton mint Chorley vest disappearing into the clag. Bah humbug! So I had to give chase and do it all over again, only finally getting past again by dint of taking a better line across the moor after CP8. Then it was that barnstorming descent to CP 9 and the final lungburster climb. I was really proud of myself here as I really dug in and held onto the bloke in front of me who was running really strongly. Real elbow to elbow stuff. I kept shouting directions to a couple of blokes in front which I thought was the gentlemanly thing to do, rather than keep letting them go wrong. But that backfired a bit when I told them to turn left at the kissng gate near the bottom of the big track. I should have known it was straight ahead. The problem is that I have done so many races that I have competing memories and in my anoxic state I made the wrong call. Sorry fellas. Having said that, the bloke I'd been running alongside didn't say anything when I called out to the two blokes to turn left. Nice one.
Anyway, I was seven minutes slower than last year, but so was almost everyone else. I also gained 11 places, which was great. After all, it's a race, not a time trial.
So, overall a good run out. But the real acid test will be the Wuthering Hike in a months time.
Post scriptum:
Apres -
So it's great that there is a fell race up there. Well, there are a few actually, including the famous Rivington Pike race, one of the oldest fell races in the calendar, plus our club fell race and the hendersons End race, also organised by Lostock. But the Winter Hill fell race is the big one. It's long and hard and takes in a lot of climbs and some difficult terrain. It's the first weekend in February too, so the weather usually adds its bit to the test.
This year it was a pretty bleak day, but to be honest it looked worse than it actually was. It's just that people are permanently on the verge of panic now over every slight fluctuation in the weather.
As I said in my last post I wasn't sure about my form. I'd been doing a fair bit of training but it hadn't seemed to be giving obvious results in the couple of shorter races I'd done since Christmas, namely the Jubilee Plunge and the Ashurst Beacon race.
I ran it hard, hard, hard. I had to let everyone go at the start - I estimated about forty odd in front of me at the bottom of the rocky road. I just can't start off fast. Mind you, neither can half of those in front of me because I finished off in 23rd place. There's a lorra lorra uphill in the first few miles. In fact, most of the first 3.5 miles is gradually uphill. But going through the bog and the tussocks after the Pike things usually settle down and I got into the old chuggernaut rhythm. I knew that if I could pace myself and hang on to the fellas in front of me then I would almost certainly 'ave 'em on the downhill to CP3. And so it was. I seem to descend very well and so I can usually go down pretty quick, gaining a lot of places but recovering at the same time. I usually lose all the places again on the next uphill, but I've been trying to work on that, so on the murder mile up the ramp I was determined that no-one was going to pass me. In fact no-one passed me on a climb for the rest of the race. Though the longer the race, the more I can hold my own. Good running economy I think they call it. I found myself chasing Darren Fishwick of Chorley, who I'd last seen as he passed me near the finish of the Jubilee Plunge - his 100th race of 2012. I was just behind him at the trig point and I thought I'd get him on the descent to he footbridge - especially with my "oblique line". rather than run along and then drop steeply down, I often find it faster to run a more gradual oblique descent.
I passed Dazza going through the flagged section and had a good climb up to Noon Hill. But I stupidly played follow me leader and went straight on when I knew I should have swung right. I only fully realised where I should have been when I saw Darren's Everton mint Chorley vest disappearing into the clag. Bah humbug! So I had to give chase and do it all over again, only finally getting past again by dint of taking a better line across the moor after CP8. Then it was that barnstorming descent to CP 9 and the final lungburster climb. I was really proud of myself here as I really dug in and held onto the bloke in front of me who was running really strongly. Real elbow to elbow stuff. I kept shouting directions to a couple of blokes in front which I thought was the gentlemanly thing to do, rather than keep letting them go wrong. But that backfired a bit when I told them to turn left at the kissng gate near the bottom of the big track. I should have known it was straight ahead. The problem is that I have done so many races that I have competing memories and in my anoxic state I made the wrong call. Sorry fellas. Having said that, the bloke I'd been running alongside didn't say anything when I called out to the two blokes to turn left. Nice one.
Anyway, I was seven minutes slower than last year, but so was almost everyone else. I also gained 11 places, which was great. After all, it's a race, not a time trial.
So, overall a good run out. But the real acid test will be the Wuthering Hike in a months time.
Post scriptum:
Apres -
 |
| Corned beef anyone? Way to go, well known shoe manufacturer! Glad I didn't pay the full RRP of ninety odd pounds to have my feet butchered! |
Friday, 1 February 2013
A luvverly start to the year (2)
The Hebden: 22 miles in a big circle around Hebden Bridge starting from Mytholmroyd.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the area around the Calder valley is one of my favourite areas.
A nice 22 miler in the middle of January was just the start to the year I needed.
The weather leading up to the event had been horrendous to the point of apocalyptic. It had been dangerous and foolhardy just venturing out of the house....
Oh, actually, no it hadn't; that was just the weather forecast, which is not the same thing at all. I'm beginning to wonder what impact on the economy all these dire forecasts and weather warnings have.
We had a quick and enjoyable drive over, even taking the high road past the White House and the delightfully spooky Blackstone Edge Resevoir and then down Cragg Vale into Mytholmroyd.
I love the hustle and bustle of these village hall start venues and this one was particularly good. I enjoyed my bacon butty whilst getting myself prepped up and looking form familiar faces. I can't always put names to them all but I'm getting to recognise a lot of people now and I'm increasingly impressed by what a cosy bunch my fellow participants in these events is.
Anyway, today it was an even cosier bunch, as a fair proportion of the entrants didn't turn up. Whipped, beaten and emasculated by the weather forecast before they'd even turned out.
Is it just post-Michael Fish, or is there actually some conspiracy afoot? Because I genuinely think that they are taking the piss with their constant apocalyptic weather forecasts and dire weather warnings.
As it turned out, for a mid January Saturday you probably couldn't have wished for better running conditions. The thick clarty slutch from two weeks before had frozen hard, and then on top of that a layer of dry snow which was trodden firmly down for the most part. This gave firm footing on the flats and uphills, but leant a convenient cushioning to the downhills. It was slighly overcast, but still and fairly clear. Like I said, you couldn't have wished for better really.
So we were off on the Hebden; and the organisers have pulled off the seeingly magical feat of devising a route which starts and ends in the same place, but seems to consist of running uphill virtually the entire time. But then again they all feel like that to me.
I opted for my usual steady start, but that first long grind up hill still felt hard. Albert from Horwich passed me half way up that first hill, as he always does, and disappeared into the distance. Then it was just a case of getting into a steady rythm and enjoying it. Which I did.
Along the undulating trails around Hardcastle Crags a woman darted past doing a fair rate of knots and I thought, blinkin' flip, she's doing a fair old pace. Now, I've got absolutely no hang ups about being "chicked" as I've seen it referred to somewhere (is that common parlance?). But first lady is just another yardstick like top 3, top ten, top 20, first, second or third vet, first, second or third V50, beating your clubmate, and so on. Not that I'm competitive or anything.
Anyway, I thought, there's no way I'm going to stick with that pace for long, though of course I had to give it a try. It was nip and tuck for a while as the tracks and paths went up and down at various gradients, picking out our strengths and weaknesses. The imagine my surprise when just before the descent to the half way CP the route went right and "first lady" went left. It's a good job I didn't follow her as she wasn't in the race at all! At least that meant that I could slow down a bit.
Then it was more endless, endless climbing which ended near Stoodley Pike. Shortly after the next checkpoint I recognised Albert. Aha, the chuggernaut finally catches up. I reasoned that since I had caught him up I must have been going marginally faster than him, so that if I stuck with him for a while I should start to recover. But quite the contrary happened and I found that I was suddenly at the limit trying to stay with him. Going up the steep steps to the road at Cragg Vale felt like torture. Mabe it's a purely psychological thing, and by relaxing my focus I had relaxed too much and therefore the continued effort just felt harder. Maybe I was going through a "bad patch"; or maybe the bugger had just speeded up? It's a good job he had to rely on me for route finding or he'd have left me for dead. Then, on the last cruel climb up through the woods I realised that we were almost there. The last few miles along the crest of the escarpment and then the final descent were really enjoyable. And of course I couldn't resist the comedy sprint finish at the end.
I honestly thought that I'd do better than my 3 hrs 47. I'd had a mystery virus over Christmas which seemed to have cleared up, but was there some vestigial fatigue? I'd been concentrating on "speedwork" doing short fast races such as the Ashurst Beacon, and cross country races as well as intense training - was I still tired from that? As a result I had not done as many 20 to 40 mile runs as I had done at the same time last year in preparation for the Lakeland 100 - is that what was lacking. Or is it just that I'm another year older, I've peaked and am now in terminal decline?
Well, it's the Winter Hill fell race coming up, and the Wuthering Hike shortly after that - they will be very good indicators of my form. Time will tell...
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the area around the Calder valley is one of my favourite areas.
A nice 22 miler in the middle of January was just the start to the year I needed.
The weather leading up to the event had been horrendous to the point of apocalyptic. It had been dangerous and foolhardy just venturing out of the house....
Oh, actually, no it hadn't; that was just the weather forecast, which is not the same thing at all. I'm beginning to wonder what impact on the economy all these dire forecasts and weather warnings have.
We had a quick and enjoyable drive over, even taking the high road past the White House and the delightfully spooky Blackstone Edge Resevoir and then down Cragg Vale into Mytholmroyd.
I love the hustle and bustle of these village hall start venues and this one was particularly good. I enjoyed my bacon butty whilst getting myself prepped up and looking form familiar faces. I can't always put names to them all but I'm getting to recognise a lot of people now and I'm increasingly impressed by what a cosy bunch my fellow participants in these events is.
Anyway, today it was an even cosier bunch, as a fair proportion of the entrants didn't turn up. Whipped, beaten and emasculated by the weather forecast before they'd even turned out.
Is it just post-Michael Fish, or is there actually some conspiracy afoot? Because I genuinely think that they are taking the piss with their constant apocalyptic weather forecasts and dire weather warnings.
As it turned out, for a mid January Saturday you probably couldn't have wished for better running conditions. The thick clarty slutch from two weeks before had frozen hard, and then on top of that a layer of dry snow which was trodden firmly down for the most part. This gave firm footing on the flats and uphills, but leant a convenient cushioning to the downhills. It was slighly overcast, but still and fairly clear. Like I said, you couldn't have wished for better really.
So we were off on the Hebden; and the organisers have pulled off the seeingly magical feat of devising a route which starts and ends in the same place, but seems to consist of running uphill virtually the entire time. But then again they all feel like that to me.
I opted for my usual steady start, but that first long grind up hill still felt hard. Albert from Horwich passed me half way up that first hill, as he always does, and disappeared into the distance. Then it was just a case of getting into a steady rythm and enjoying it. Which I did.
Along the undulating trails around Hardcastle Crags a woman darted past doing a fair rate of knots and I thought, blinkin' flip, she's doing a fair old pace. Now, I've got absolutely no hang ups about being "chicked" as I've seen it referred to somewhere (is that common parlance?). But first lady is just another yardstick like top 3, top ten, top 20, first, second or third vet, first, second or third V50, beating your clubmate, and so on. Not that I'm competitive or anything.
Anyway, I thought, there's no way I'm going to stick with that pace for long, though of course I had to give it a try. It was nip and tuck for a while as the tracks and paths went up and down at various gradients, picking out our strengths and weaknesses. The imagine my surprise when just before the descent to the half way CP the route went right and "first lady" went left. It's a good job I didn't follow her as she wasn't in the race at all! At least that meant that I could slow down a bit.
Then it was more endless, endless climbing which ended near Stoodley Pike. Shortly after the next checkpoint I recognised Albert. Aha, the chuggernaut finally catches up. I reasoned that since I had caught him up I must have been going marginally faster than him, so that if I stuck with him for a while I should start to recover. But quite the contrary happened and I found that I was suddenly at the limit trying to stay with him. Going up the steep steps to the road at Cragg Vale felt like torture. Mabe it's a purely psychological thing, and by relaxing my focus I had relaxed too much and therefore the continued effort just felt harder. Maybe I was going through a "bad patch"; or maybe the bugger had just speeded up? It's a good job he had to rely on me for route finding or he'd have left me for dead. Then, on the last cruel climb up through the woods I realised that we were almost there. The last few miles along the crest of the escarpment and then the final descent were really enjoyable. And of course I couldn't resist the comedy sprint finish at the end.
I honestly thought that I'd do better than my 3 hrs 47. I'd had a mystery virus over Christmas which seemed to have cleared up, but was there some vestigial fatigue? I'd been concentrating on "speedwork" doing short fast races such as the Ashurst Beacon, and cross country races as well as intense training - was I still tired from that? As a result I had not done as many 20 to 40 mile runs as I had done at the same time last year in preparation for the Lakeland 100 - is that what was lacking. Or is it just that I'm another year older, I've peaked and am now in terminal decline?
Well, it's the Winter Hill fell race coming up, and the Wuthering Hike shortly after that - they will be very good indicators of my form. Time will tell...
The Hebden - a luvverly start to the year (1)
Got that Christmas thing out of the way - back to real life and planning the schedule for the year ahead. I definitely bit off a bit more than I could chew last year, so this year I was going to be a bit more selective. So, after a great deal of consideration and a lot of umming and ahhing I came up with the following projects:
Take a few more piccies while I'm out and about;
Enough races to qualify for the Runfurther series, including he Wuthering Hike, 32 miles; The Calderdale Hike, 37 miles; The Fellsman, 61 miles; and one other.
Enough races to count for the English Fell champs: Edale Skyline, Fairfield Horseshoe...
Enough races to count for the Lakeland Classics trophy: Wasdale, Ennerdale, Borrrowdale et al...
The Lakeland 50;
The Lostock club fell championship;
The Lostock lakeland championship;
The Lostock road championship;
The Lostock cross country championship;
The Saunders Lakeland MM;
The OMM;
The Old County Tops;
The Blackpool Marathon - I've had a long held ambition to go sub 3 hours so I reckon it's time to have a go...
Plus, I banged an entry in to the CCC and didn't I just get picked out of the hat. So a half a lap around Mont Blanc will just about top the year of nicely.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...... you must be fucking mad, Liptrot.....
Take a few more piccies while I'm out and about;
Enough races to qualify for the Runfurther series, including he Wuthering Hike, 32 miles; The Calderdale Hike, 37 miles; The Fellsman, 61 miles; and one other.
Enough races to count for the English Fell champs: Edale Skyline, Fairfield Horseshoe...
Enough races to count for the Lakeland Classics trophy: Wasdale, Ennerdale, Borrrowdale et al...
The Lakeland 50;
The Lostock club fell championship;
The Lostock lakeland championship;
The Lostock road championship;
The Lostock cross country championship;
The Saunders Lakeland MM;
The OMM;
The Old County Tops;
The Blackpool Marathon - I've had a long held ambition to go sub 3 hours so I reckon it's time to have a go...
Plus, I banged an entry in to the CCC and didn't I just get picked out of the hat. So a half a lap around Mont Blanc will just about top the year of nicely.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...... you must be fucking mad, Liptrot.....
Friday, 14 December 2012
Why I love running a long, long way (or: shove your VO2 max up your arse, sonny)
I've been hiking and climbing and running and fell running and mountain biking and then running again and fell running again for a fair number of years now. During that time I've and discussed and experimented and read and pondered and taken the piss quite a lot.
One of the things I've pondered is this: which is most worthy of praise and admiration: someone who achieves success through natural talent and innate ability, or someone who achieves success by dint of exhaustive and rigorous application? Or is it just the success that we admire, however it is achieved? Or is the achievement of success by the realisation of innate talent through exhaustive and rigorous application the most admirable?
One of the things I've learned through my reading is that things like VO2 max and the proportion of fast or slow twitch muscle fibres are largely genetically determined. You can train your arse off but that person with the better VO2 max will always beat you in a 10k or whatever. Is that dispiriting or do you just revel in realising your own potential?
It's only in the last couple of years that I've got into this ultra long distance running malarkey. I think the common conception is that it's an old geezer's game, that you get more endurance as you get older - or do you just get slower? I know that to the casual uninitiated observer we mustn't look very "athletic" shuffling along after thirty five miles. Is ultra running just the last refuge of the ageing plodder dismissed by Lord Coe: "I've always felt that long, slow distance produces long, slow runners." (But then I suppose Seb himself is a long slow runner compared to lightning Bolt et al).
But then again......
The general concensus is that ultrarunning isn't all about "fitness." There are many, many other considerations, even down to a fair old element of luck on the day. Fitness plays it's part, but so does general all round conditioning and resistance to cumulative wear and tear fatigue. This resistance is attained through many, many hours out on the trails. Resistance to injury is also important. Ability to move over different and varying terrain, uphill and downhill is also tested, as are navigation and self reliance. Probably more important than your VO2 max is your constitution - how easily you can keep that rice pudding down after forty miles. More than in most other disciplines, knowing how to pace yourself can mean the difference between a glorious completion and an ignominious DNF.
Positive mental attitude. Determination. Fortitude. Willingness to face up to big, big challenges.
The ability to cover vast distances on your feet is a great, if somewhat bizarre attribute. Your partner left her waterproof trousers in the car parked in another valley. Simple - run over the hill and back to get them.
I was about to cycle home from work recently when my chain snapped. Don't get me started on overpriced and under engineered cycle shit. Anyway no sweat, I'll run home, it's only 12 miles.
So, running long is where the time you put in pays probably a greater dividend than your innate VO2 max or whatever.
So, shove your Vo2 max up your arse, sonny.
One of the things I've pondered is this: which is most worthy of praise and admiration: someone who achieves success through natural talent and innate ability, or someone who achieves success by dint of exhaustive and rigorous application? Or is it just the success that we admire, however it is achieved? Or is the achievement of success by the realisation of innate talent through exhaustive and rigorous application the most admirable?
One of the things I've learned through my reading is that things like VO2 max and the proportion of fast or slow twitch muscle fibres are largely genetically determined. You can train your arse off but that person with the better VO2 max will always beat you in a 10k or whatever. Is that dispiriting or do you just revel in realising your own potential?
It's only in the last couple of years that I've got into this ultra long distance running malarkey. I think the common conception is that it's an old geezer's game, that you get more endurance as you get older - or do you just get slower? I know that to the casual uninitiated observer we mustn't look very "athletic" shuffling along after thirty five miles. Is ultra running just the last refuge of the ageing plodder dismissed by Lord Coe: "I've always felt that long, slow distance produces long, slow runners." (But then I suppose Seb himself is a long slow runner compared to lightning Bolt et al).
But then again......
The general concensus is that ultrarunning isn't all about "fitness." There are many, many other considerations, even down to a fair old element of luck on the day. Fitness plays it's part, but so does general all round conditioning and resistance to cumulative wear and tear fatigue. This resistance is attained through many, many hours out on the trails. Resistance to injury is also important. Ability to move over different and varying terrain, uphill and downhill is also tested, as are navigation and self reliance. Probably more important than your VO2 max is your constitution - how easily you can keep that rice pudding down after forty miles. More than in most other disciplines, knowing how to pace yourself can mean the difference between a glorious completion and an ignominious DNF.
Positive mental attitude. Determination. Fortitude. Willingness to face up to big, big challenges.
The ability to cover vast distances on your feet is a great, if somewhat bizarre attribute. Your partner left her waterproof trousers in the car parked in another valley. Simple - run over the hill and back to get them.
I was about to cycle home from work recently when my chain snapped. Don't get me started on overpriced and under engineered cycle shit. Anyway no sweat, I'll run home, it's only 12 miles.
So, running long is where the time you put in pays probably a greater dividend than your innate VO2 max or whatever.
So, shove your Vo2 max up your arse, sonny.
 |
| Talking of genetically determined physical attributes... |
Saturday, 3 November 2012
Shepherd's Skyline fell race 3 Nov 2012 (nice to have a post with piccies in. Many thanks to Todmorden Harriers and Woodentops)
This starts at the Shepherd's Rest Inn on the Lumbutts Road above Todmorden. I love this area around the Calder Valley: Todmorden, Hebden Bridge, Mytholmroyd, Heptonstall; the deep valleys and the gritstone moors; Widdop and Alcomden. I'm a big Ted Hughes fan and the poetry and the landscape go hand in hand.
This is a lovely event too. I don't know how long it's been going, but it feels like a very traditional, family oriented affair. The kids races beforehand give a good build up and seem to be raced just as hard as the adults' race.
The last few days had been very, very, very, very wet. As I was strolling up to the start to watch some of the kids races I heard one of the marshalls enthuse, "I hope you like mud!"
A big turnout from Lostock, particularly impressive for such a small club, especially as some of the ladies are growing in confidence.
It was cold as well as muddy, so I did a good warm up, and then sidled into the throng a couple of rows back. Not too far forward to be presumptious, but far enough not to get impeded too much on the first long, singletrack climb. Now, I have become very familiar with Chris Davies's arse over the last year. Not usually at such close quarters - it's normally moving inexorably ahead in the first couple of miles, never to be seen again. I've been racing against Chris in the Runfurther series all year. I had some reasonable results against him in the first half of the year but Mr Consistent just seemed to get better and better as the year went on. He's my arch nemesis: the Sherlock Holmes to my Moriarty; Popeye to my Bluto; Batman to my Riddler; Superman to my Lex Luthor; Bugs Bunny to my Elmer Fudd; Road Runner to my Wiley E Coyote... you get the picture...
Anyway, who did I find sidled in just in front of me? "Oh no, what are you doin' here?"
We shook hands, had a laugh and a joke and he said, "I really hope you beat me today. No, I really do. Have a good one," which I thought was nice and really gentlemanly. Well, I can always try, I thought.
Then suddenly without warning we were off! But only about six yards up to the start line, where everybody had to reset their watches.
Then we really were off and it was like going over the top at the Somme. Very appropriate as I'd been wearing my poppy with pride all week.
I'm not the best of climbers but I have been working on it recently, and I had decided that today I was going to go very, very hard on the climbs, even if it compromised my overall time. So my breathing was going ten to he dozen on the long, long climb to the skyline proper and my legs were approaching a jelly like state just as the angle started to ease. Although I'm not that good going up, I do recover on steadier inclines and I got into a rhythm and was just about holding my own. When I talk about rhythm I don't mean some nice comfortable ultra distance rhythm, I mean a grimacing, snot all over my face, lung bursting sort of rhythm.The pictures don't really do it justice:
As we crested the long rise I expected to see Stoodley Pike, but I didn't expect it to look that far away. But then we were there and I knew I'd recover on the "kamikaze" descent, and maybe even move up a couple of places. I've been wearing these Mudclaw 300 for a year or so which I got on loan from my Inov8 insider clubmate. I think the Mudclaw sole is the best there is for sketchy descents. Even though the studs are worn down, these were still confidence inspiring. And though I did have to hold back a bit in the wet, slippery conditions I still managed to gain a couple of places. Is that a good enough plug, Hopey? Can I keep them a bit longer?
Then it was along the track and onto the big climb back up. I red lined it here and even managed to pass a couple of people which is very, very unusual for me on a climb like this. I was just starting to think about holding a bit back for the finish when who should come sailing past but CD.
"You really pulled away from me on that descent," he said by way of encouragement. The sight of that infuriating arse re-invigorated me and I red-lined, gurned and palpitated my way up the rest of the climb trying to keep him within striking distance.
I slowly but surely gained ground as the gradient eased and we headed back over the moor toward the final descent.
It helped that I was running behind Calder Valley's Mark Wharton: I thought all those people shouting, "Come on Mark!" were rooting for me.
And then we were on the final descent. In a manic burst of recklessness and desperation I launched myself downwards and ran till I was almost sick, just pipping Chris by a few seconds. I came in 3rd V50 behind Bowland's Declan O'Duffy. Declan came with me on my very first ever Bob Graham reccy in deepest midwinter snows around Calf Crag. He'll be hard to beat at the Tour of Pendle in a couple of weeks.
Then it was off for a burger at the garden centre, and look for somewhere quiet to do a few hill reps to get full value out of the day.
I didn't intend to do such a big write up, but I just wanted to celebrate the type of event which in many ways epitomises our sport and forms its backbone.
Thanks everyone.
(PS. James Bond to my Odd Job)
This is a lovely event too. I don't know how long it's been going, but it feels like a very traditional, family oriented affair. The kids races beforehand give a good build up and seem to be raced just as hard as the adults' race.
The last few days had been very, very, very, very wet. As I was strolling up to the start to watch some of the kids races I heard one of the marshalls enthuse, "I hope you like mud!"
A big turnout from Lostock, particularly impressive for such a small club, especially as some of the ladies are growing in confidence.
It was cold as well as muddy, so I did a good warm up, and then sidled into the throng a couple of rows back. Not too far forward to be presumptious, but far enough not to get impeded too much on the first long, singletrack climb. Now, I have become very familiar with Chris Davies's arse over the last year. Not usually at such close quarters - it's normally moving inexorably ahead in the first couple of miles, never to be seen again. I've been racing against Chris in the Runfurther series all year. I had some reasonable results against him in the first half of the year but Mr Consistent just seemed to get better and better as the year went on. He's my arch nemesis: the Sherlock Holmes to my Moriarty; Popeye to my Bluto; Batman to my Riddler; Superman to my Lex Luthor; Bugs Bunny to my Elmer Fudd; Road Runner to my Wiley E Coyote... you get the picture...
Anyway, who did I find sidled in just in front of me? "Oh no, what are you doin' here?"
We shook hands, had a laugh and a joke and he said, "I really hope you beat me today. No, I really do. Have a good one," which I thought was nice and really gentlemanly. Well, I can always try, I thought.
Then suddenly without warning we were off! But only about six yards up to the start line, where everybody had to reset their watches.
Then we really were off and it was like going over the top at the Somme. Very appropriate as I'd been wearing my poppy with pride all week.
I'm not the best of climbers but I have been working on it recently, and I had decided that today I was going to go very, very hard on the climbs, even if it compromised my overall time. So my breathing was going ten to he dozen on the long, long climb to the skyline proper and my legs were approaching a jelly like state just as the angle started to ease. Although I'm not that good going up, I do recover on steadier inclines and I got into a rhythm and was just about holding my own. When I talk about rhythm I don't mean some nice comfortable ultra distance rhythm, I mean a grimacing, snot all over my face, lung bursting sort of rhythm.The pictures don't really do it justice:
 | ||||||
| The camera caught me in that split second between grimaces. Photo courtesy ot Tod Harriers |
 |
| A more scenic one, with Declan looking good in his shiny Bowland vest. Photo courtesy of the WoodenTops |
As we crested the long rise I expected to see Stoodley Pike, but I didn't expect it to look that far away. But then we were there and I knew I'd recover on the "kamikaze" descent, and maybe even move up a couple of places. I've been wearing these Mudclaw 300 for a year or so which I got on loan from my Inov8 insider clubmate. I think the Mudclaw sole is the best there is for sketchy descents. Even though the studs are worn down, these were still confidence inspiring. And though I did have to hold back a bit in the wet, slippery conditions I still managed to gain a couple of places. Is that a good enough plug, Hopey? Can I keep them a bit longer?
Then it was along the track and onto the big climb back up. I red lined it here and even managed to pass a couple of people which is very, very unusual for me on a climb like this. I was just starting to think about holding a bit back for the finish when who should come sailing past but CD.
"You really pulled away from me on that descent," he said by way of encouragement. The sight of that infuriating arse re-invigorated me and I red-lined, gurned and palpitated my way up the rest of the climb trying to keep him within striking distance.
 |
| Hnnfff! Photo courtesy of WoodenTops |
 |
| Duel to the Death. Photo courtesy of Tod Harriers. |
It helped that I was running behind Calder Valley's Mark Wharton: I thought all those people shouting, "Come on Mark!" were rooting for me.
And then we were on the final descent. In a manic burst of recklessness and desperation I launched myself downwards and ran till I was almost sick, just pipping Chris by a few seconds. I came in 3rd V50 behind Bowland's Declan O'Duffy. Declan came with me on my very first ever Bob Graham reccy in deepest midwinter snows around Calf Crag. He'll be hard to beat at the Tour of Pendle in a couple of weeks.
Then it was off for a burger at the garden centre, and look for somewhere quiet to do a few hill reps to get full value out of the day.
I didn't intend to do such a big write up, but I just wanted to celebrate the type of event which in many ways epitomises our sport and forms its backbone.
Thanks everyone.
(PS. James Bond to my Odd Job)
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