This morning I ran the Eastleigh 10k; a prestigious event with a field of over 2500. I haven't entered a fast road race for ages and in fact I didn't enter this one - my friend Matt offered me his place and I thought it would be a good gauge of my speed. Back in the 90s, I was very focused on times and fast road courses - my record-keeping is not great, but I think my best was the Highworth 10k in 2005 when I ran 35:51.
It was cold this morning - a numbing 2 degrees with a light east wind. Like everyone else, I tried to stay indoors as long as possible before the start. I positioned myself about 8 runners deep from the start line; the gun went and off we set at a cracking pace.
In fact it was a blistering pace and it started to dawnn on me that I had set off too far up the field. This set the tone for the whole race. Every few metres, I was being overtaken. Sometimes one or two and other times a whole phalanx of them - both men and ladies; some very short and some really rather old. I kept up the pressure but I can't say I enjoyed it much as I slipped further and further down the order. My personal racing rule - overtaking good, being overtaken bad!
I finished in a heaving mess with 37:38 on the clock - no disaster, but I know I could have done better with more intelligent pacing. It was also my first run in a while after a rotten cold, which can't have helped. It was a very different event to the cross-country races and events like Hursley 10k... but a great learning experience and a well organised and marshalled event on the chilliest of days.
Here are the results (I was 139th of just over 2000) and here are the split times from the Garmin. First km in 3:29... that was my undoing.
Sunday, 24 March 2013
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
Grizzly 2013
The Grizzly is a simply fabulous race. 20 miles of stunning scenery and terrain, shingle beaches, cliffs, bogs, forests and steep grassy slopes, all provided with quirky, offbeat good humour. It inspires poetry, passion and excitement and all 1400 places sell out in about an hour. Here's a nice little promotional video which gives a bit of a flavour.
I did my first Grizzly in 2008 and have been going back ever since.
It was a freezing cold day - 2 degrees, a vicious east wind and rain forecast. I sat in a cafe with my friends Peat, Sue and John beforehand discussing kit. Deciding what to wear isn't straightforward - to little and you can freeze, too much and you can be lugging around a load of unwanted stuff for three hours. I decided to go with a simple long-sleeved shirt under my club singlet together with hat and gloves.
The first highlight of the race happens before the start, when the Town Crier roars 'oh yea!' into a microphone three times and everyone roars back. He yells out a poem and then shouts 'God save the Queen!' The resulting cheer is huge and quite moving.
Here's a link to the route. We started with about 1km of beach, which is utterly energy sapping and puts you firmly in your place. Having woken up with a cold the day before, I was determined to be conservative in my pacing, and I kept the pacing low-key.
Over the hill to Beer and then another climb to Branscombe - all reasonably familiar territory. The recent rain had made the slopes very slippery, particularly where a thin layer of mud sat on even rocks. From Branscombe, we were off into the twists, turns and crazy slopes of the course itself - and the route changes every year. The route is very well marshalled (it has to be, or you'd be lost before you know it) and peppered with hand-painted quotations on boards, such as:
After about 90 minutes my gloves went on, and soon after that it started gently sleeting. I was feeling good; starting to feel the strain in my legs but holding it together. I was starting to overtake others, which felt good.
And then the bog! This my personal highlight of the race - about 50 metres of proper gloopy, swampy mire that goes up to your knees. It's hilarious and wonderful and exhausting. Soon after that was my next favourite bit, a rush downhill past the Fountainhead pub with a tunnel of people cheering you on.
A few minutes later I was back on Branscombe beach.... the bit where if it can go wrong, it will. As well as the kilometre of debilitating shingle beach, sleet was blowing in our faces. I overtook a few poor guys on the beach who weren't looking too good. And then, through the under cliff - a twisty climb up and up and then the infamous Stairway to Heaven, taking you right up the cliff. I've suffered horribly here before, groaning with exhaustion... but this time I felt OK and managed to wave my arms for the photographer.
Up onto the brow of the hill and the strength of the wind made my gasp. I pulled my hat on and realised how cold I was, and in particular my hands. On and on with more urgency now, back to Beer and then the final push to Seaton. From the cliff top onwards I had an invisible presence just behind my left shoulder. I kept enough pressure up to hold him off, and as we neared the finish I could tell it was going to be a fight to the end. I moved up a gear, and he responded. I accelerated again, and so did he. I pushed once more but too early, and he cruised past me to the finish. I'm sure he pushed me to be a minute faster than I would otherwise have run.
More pressing, though, was the terrible state of my hands. They were slabs of chilled meat on the ends of my arms. I struggled to hold the banana and t-shirt that were given to me. My clothes were all wet with sleet and I hobbled my way as quickly as I could to Peat's car, where I found the hidden key and after a lot of struggling with laces and fiddly bits of clothing, managed to get some dry kit on.
I have rarely been so cold in my life. I was now dry and dressed up in several layers, but I was in a right state, shivering uncontrollably. Meanwhile Peat had turned up, ecstatic after a huge improvement in his race over previous years, and not being remotely frozen (it's usually the other way around). We went off the cafe and were soon joined by Sue. I was soon eating hot soup and feeling more human.
Here are the results - 48th place overall, which is middling for my 6 years - best is 36th (2008), worst is 65th (2010). I'm pretty satisfied overall, given that my lungs weren't working at full throttle. Now, next year...
Here are the GPS stats, and here are the official photos of the day; I tried smiling in some of them, but most of them are characteristically awful.
I did my first Grizzly in 2008 and have been going back ever since.
It was a freezing cold day - 2 degrees, a vicious east wind and rain forecast. I sat in a cafe with my friends Peat, Sue and John beforehand discussing kit. Deciding what to wear isn't straightforward - to little and you can freeze, too much and you can be lugging around a load of unwanted stuff for three hours. I decided to go with a simple long-sleeved shirt under my club singlet together with hat and gloves.
The first highlight of the race happens before the start, when the Town Crier roars 'oh yea!' into a microphone three times and everyone roars back. He yells out a poem and then shouts 'God save the Queen!' The resulting cheer is huge and quite moving.
Here's a link to the route. We started with about 1km of beach, which is utterly energy sapping and puts you firmly in your place. Having woken up with a cold the day before, I was determined to be conservative in my pacing, and I kept the pacing low-key.
Over the hill to Beer and then another climb to Branscombe - all reasonably familiar territory. The recent rain had made the slopes very slippery, particularly where a thin layer of mud sat on even rocks. From Branscombe, we were off into the twists, turns and crazy slopes of the course itself - and the route changes every year. The route is very well marshalled (it has to be, or you'd be lost before you know it) and peppered with hand-painted quotations on boards, such as:
'Be there before you leave here'
'You are, therefore I am'
'If it is gone and you are still here, then you did not need it'
'Overcome by undergoing'
'7/5 of people do not understand fractions'
...not to mention a Buddhist shrine, a memorial to absent friends and lone pipers in the most remote possible places. Is there any other event remotely like it?After about 90 minutes my gloves went on, and soon after that it started gently sleeting. I was feeling good; starting to feel the strain in my legs but holding it together. I was starting to overtake others, which felt good.
And then the bog! This my personal highlight of the race - about 50 metres of proper gloopy, swampy mire that goes up to your knees. It's hilarious and wonderful and exhausting. Soon after that was my next favourite bit, a rush downhill past the Fountainhead pub with a tunnel of people cheering you on.
A few minutes later I was back on Branscombe beach.... the bit where if it can go wrong, it will. As well as the kilometre of debilitating shingle beach, sleet was blowing in our faces. I overtook a few poor guys on the beach who weren't looking too good. And then, through the under cliff - a twisty climb up and up and then the infamous Stairway to Heaven, taking you right up the cliff. I've suffered horribly here before, groaning with exhaustion... but this time I felt OK and managed to wave my arms for the photographer.
Up onto the brow of the hill and the strength of the wind made my gasp. I pulled my hat on and realised how cold I was, and in particular my hands. On and on with more urgency now, back to Beer and then the final push to Seaton. From the cliff top onwards I had an invisible presence just behind my left shoulder. I kept enough pressure up to hold him off, and as we neared the finish I could tell it was going to be a fight to the end. I moved up a gear, and he responded. I accelerated again, and so did he. I pushed once more but too early, and he cruised past me to the finish. I'm sure he pushed me to be a minute faster than I would otherwise have run.
More pressing, though, was the terrible state of my hands. They were slabs of chilled meat on the ends of my arms. I struggled to hold the banana and t-shirt that were given to me. My clothes were all wet with sleet and I hobbled my way as quickly as I could to Peat's car, where I found the hidden key and after a lot of struggling with laces and fiddly bits of clothing, managed to get some dry kit on.
I have rarely been so cold in my life. I was now dry and dressed up in several layers, but I was in a right state, shivering uncontrollably. Meanwhile Peat had turned up, ecstatic after a huge improvement in his race over previous years, and not being remotely frozen (it's usually the other way around). We went off the cafe and were soon joined by Sue. I was soon eating hot soup and feeling more human.
Here are the results - 48th place overall, which is middling for my 6 years - best is 36th (2008), worst is 65th (2010). I'm pretty satisfied overall, given that my lungs weren't working at full throttle. Now, next year...
Here are the GPS stats, and here are the official photos of the day; I tried smiling in some of them, but most of them are characteristically awful.
Sunday, 3 March 2013
John Austin half marathon 2013
This morning I ran the John Austin half marathon - a super race in the New Forest which begins and ends in Brockenhurst and is entirely off-road. It's led by a horse and rider - how cool is that?
It was a cold day - 3 degrees, and a bitter east wind. It was quite a trudge from the race HQ to the start, with the family all bravely in tow.
It's race of three parts... here's the route:
The first five miles is all through forest plantations, which were reasonably sheltered. Then bam! and you're onto the WWII Beaulieu airfield which is flat but hugely exposed to the wind on certain legs. It was a relief to come off this. Just like last year, it was at the end of the airfield stretch that I felt myself gaining on the runners ahead and started picking them off as we went into the final phase; narrow tracks with much more undulation and plenty of thick mud in parts.
With about 2 miles to go I was gaining ground on a runner who was clearly >40 (no offence mate, but I've got more hair than you) and I was determined to beat him. It was a question of reeling him in very slowly, and when I made my move to past him he said something that I couldn't hear but indicated that the fight had left him. There was no one else in sight ahead and I just tried to keep the pressure on.
Quite suddenly you seem to emerge from the woods and get diverted through a posh manorial estate, downhill through a very ornate gatehouse, over a quite technical pedestrian railway bridge and you're into Brockenhurst College grounds for the finish. Hooray!
Or not. I'd forgotten about the final lap of honour around the playing fields. This was really hard work and I felt myself stumbling around a bit, terrified that my bald chaser was gaining on me. He didn't, and I arrived in 1:25:24 - here are the results. This was nearly a minute and a half up on last year which was through dreadful rainstorms but probably similar wind conditions, so pretty satisfactory, I reckon. At the finish I was in bits; my face had lost all movement and I could only mumble. I tried to have a little lie-down on the grass when I was yelled at and realised I was on the course.
I was 10th overall and 2nd M40, a bit down from last year, but it was undoubtedly a stronger field this year.
Here's the GPS output.
Much kudos to the organisers and the marshals, who brave very cold conditions to make this possible.
It was a cold day - 3 degrees, and a bitter east wind. It was quite a trudge from the race HQ to the start, with the family all bravely in tow.
It's race of three parts... here's the route:
The first five miles is all through forest plantations, which were reasonably sheltered. Then bam! and you're onto the WWII Beaulieu airfield which is flat but hugely exposed to the wind on certain legs. It was a relief to come off this. Just like last year, it was at the end of the airfield stretch that I felt myself gaining on the runners ahead and started picking them off as we went into the final phase; narrow tracks with much more undulation and plenty of thick mud in parts.
With about 2 miles to go I was gaining ground on a runner who was clearly >40 (no offence mate, but I've got more hair than you) and I was determined to beat him. It was a question of reeling him in very slowly, and when I made my move to past him he said something that I couldn't hear but indicated that the fight had left him. There was no one else in sight ahead and I just tried to keep the pressure on.
Quite suddenly you seem to emerge from the woods and get diverted through a posh manorial estate, downhill through a very ornate gatehouse, over a quite technical pedestrian railway bridge and you're into Brockenhurst College grounds for the finish. Hooray!
 |
| Feeling good as I enter Brockenhurst College |
 |
| Feeling done-for as I finish, after an unwelcome tour of the playing fields |
I was 10th overall and 2nd M40, a bit down from last year, but it was undoubtedly a stronger field this year.
Here's the GPS output.
Much kudos to the organisers and the marshals, who brave very cold conditions to make this possible.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
Getting lost
For the last three weeks I've been doing longer-distance training in preparation for (a) the John Austin half marathon this coming Sunday and (b) the Grizzly next weekend. A crucial component of this is running to work and back, a round trip of about 16.5 miles.
It's always exciting doing this in February because the light evenings aren't there yet. The journey takes about an hour and it's 90% cross-country along the Test Way. The final part of the home route takes me through Squabb Wood, which is dark and very boggy, even at the best of times.
Last week I didn't get away from work as early as I had hoped. It was 5.25 when I finally started running and it was getting very dark as I entered the wood. I wasn't too worried, though - I had brought a head torch with me.
With a little pool of light in front of me, I could see the 2-3 metres ahead nice and clearly - no tripping over roots or running in to branches. However... I soon lost the path and found myself in the middle of the wood. I went right and then left but I couldn't find the path. Of course, at this point I should have been sensible and retraced my steps. Of course, I didn't - I pressed on, figuring that if I headed in a kind-of 10 o'clock direction and keeping uphill, I'd come out in the right place.
Errr, no. I went on and on and eventually stumbled out in a clearing behind a chain-link face. I knew it had to be somewhere on the perimeter of the Squabb Wood extraction/landfill site, but where? I then noticed the last rays of sunlight on my right. Hang on... Work to home was a northbound journey and here I was heading South.
I called home to say don't flap, I'll be a few more minutes but my battery cut out, luckily just after delivering the slightly embarrassing message. I ventured around the perimeter of the fence until I came across vehicle tracks and from there it was quite straightforward to find the road.
Here's the map:
My big lessons for the day:
1 - running by torchlight in a wood is a tricksy business, when you can't see the path for the trees;
2 - it's unbelievably easy to turn 180 degrees when you think you're running in a straight line.
Raw geographical intuition confounded 2 miles from home. Bah.
It's always exciting doing this in February because the light evenings aren't there yet. The journey takes about an hour and it's 90% cross-country along the Test Way. The final part of the home route takes me through Squabb Wood, which is dark and very boggy, even at the best of times.
Last week I didn't get away from work as early as I had hoped. It was 5.25 when I finally started running and it was getting very dark as I entered the wood. I wasn't too worried, though - I had brought a head torch with me.
With a little pool of light in front of me, I could see the 2-3 metres ahead nice and clearly - no tripping over roots or running in to branches. However... I soon lost the path and found myself in the middle of the wood. I went right and then left but I couldn't find the path. Of course, at this point I should have been sensible and retraced my steps. Of course, I didn't - I pressed on, figuring that if I headed in a kind-of 10 o'clock direction and keeping uphill, I'd come out in the right place.
Errr, no. I went on and on and eventually stumbled out in a clearing behind a chain-link face. I knew it had to be somewhere on the perimeter of the Squabb Wood extraction/landfill site, but where? I then noticed the last rays of sunlight on my right. Hang on... Work to home was a northbound journey and here I was heading South.
I called home to say don't flap, I'll be a few more minutes but my battery cut out, luckily just after delivering the slightly embarrassing message. I ventured around the perimeter of the fence until I came across vehicle tracks and from there it was quite straightforward to find the road.
Here's the map:
My big lessons for the day:
1 - running by torchlight in a wood is a tricksy business, when you can't see the path for the trees;
2 - it's unbelievably easy to turn 180 degrees when you think you're running in a straight line.
Raw geographical intuition confounded 2 miles from home. Bah.
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