Piggy Plod, 2021

 Some races are more unpredictable, memorable and comedic than others. The Piggy Plod, by its name, sets itself up to be a race that shouldn't be taken too seriously. Having run this race twice before in 2018 and 2019, both of them in hot conditions, I knew it would be laid-back and not especially competitive, especially as today was shaping up to be the hottest of the year so far.

But this year I was all set to take this as a gentle run with the lovely Mrs S. I'm on a 12-week rehabilitation programme for my Achilles heel, which involves lots of calf and glute strengthening, a course of shockwave treatment and generally giving my left ankle just the right amount of load.

'Are you all set?', Mrs S called up the stairs as we were gettuing ready to leave. 'Oh yes', I replied. Roll forward an hour, and we'd just parked in a field near Sixpenny Handley. I undid my my normal summertime shorts and let them drop to the ground... to realise that I'd had a wardrobe malfunction and I was only wearing my cacks. Quick calculation - big heavy shorts or Classic pants? 

We can all agree that this was the right decision given the circumstances

We spent a happy few minutes chatting to Steve and Paula Edwards from Romsey and also Dave and Tone from OS, with me insisting I was going to be sensible. And then one minute from the start I looked at the assembled field and mentioned that it didn't look terribly competitive. Mrs S, Dave and Tone urged me to run at my own pace and see what happens. 

And so I set off in the first wave, a fair way back in the pack, aiming for a tempo-ish pace. I was working hard to keep my expectations firmly in check. The pace up the hill from the start line was very ambitious but I tried to be extremely sensible.

Over the next mile or so most of the runners ahead of me faded as the heat and the hills began to bite. I found myself in third place, which I thought would be a super result; respectable but demonstrably cautious... I'd been first over the line on both the previous occasions. But then the lead runner abruptly blew up and the other guy slowed right down on a hill, and I edged past.

And so that was really it - I spent the next 7 km on my own, focusing on keeping below a race pace. In truth, the heat was my friend because I was able to work hard without running hard, if that makes any sense. There was no shade and the heat was quite intense. The marshals enjoyed laughing at my unconventional shorts, on which thankfully no terrible sweat gussetry was apparent.

I finished in 43:59, nearly 4 minutes slower than in 2019, thirsty, slightly bemused and very happy. Here are my stats.

Mrs S keeping cool

 

 

The Romsey gang

The OS gang

Hampshire Hopppit half, 2021

It was four years since I last ran this race. But unlike the blistering heatwave of 2017, the weather was damp, calm and mild. Not the most beautiful day, but pretty ideal racing conditions.

A misty moisty morning

The lovely Mrs S was doing the full marathon, and we arrived in good time to get her going on her 0900 start. I was impressed by their very efficient staggered start process. A bit of bimbling about getting sorted very quickly filled up the next hour, and I found myself in the first wave of half marathon runners.

Mrs S at her starting station

A tale of two U-shapes

This race had quite an interesting profile; essentially downhill for the first half and uphill for much of the second before a sharp U-shaped profile for the final 5k. It had a competitive field; I found myself in fifth place quite early on, but I was overtaken several times on the course by runners who were indisputably faster than I. There was a lot of fun weaving and dodging on the narrow trail sections.

The hard work began from almost exactly 10k, when I came off the Harroway and took a sharp left, beginning the long uphill drag.There was no one in sight at this point, and I had to work hard to maintain the pace, first up a stretch of road, then along a track, and finally on the edge of a field. At this point I vaguely recognised my surroundings, and quite abruptly I crested the top of a hill and was skidaddling down a monstrously steep scarp slope, with marshals urging caution. There were rabbit holes everywhere (we were right next door to Watership Down).

I was rapidly gaining on George, the bloke in front. (We had our names printed on our race numbers, and the marshals on the hill were encouraging us by name). He was balding, and he could easily have been fiftysomething, which spurred me ahead. He pursued me through a twisty trail at the bottom of the hill, and as soon as we were on open ground he accelerated past me. We were in the 2017 finish field, where I was keeling over with heat exhaustion.

We continued through a flattish mixture of road and trail, with the big scarp slope looming to our right. There was less than a km to go as I hit the steep trail ascent. It was steep enough to warrant walking, but this felt a bit feeble so close to the finish, so I ended up walking then running then walking again on the steep sections.

The top of the hill arrived quite suddenly and it was a straightforward downhill dash to the line. There was a super atmosphere and a lot of cameraderie at the finish line. The results are just in - I finished in 13th overall place in 1:34:31, and was thrilled to be 1st M50. Here are my stats.

Mrs S came storming home from her marathon outing, her system having held up after a sub-optimal preparation and grinning all over. This is a really charming, efficient and altogether splendid race, and we'lll be back.

Cheers!

 

Pacing Ian's South Downs Way 100

 

Running a 100-mile race is, I hope you'll agree, quite ambitious. Running it in a heatwave takes this to a whole new level. But here we were at Chantry Post near Storrington on a hot afternoon, waiting for Ian (AKA Ralphy) to arrive. I had been nervous all week about the responsibility of accompanying Ian between roughly miles 50 to 70. Would I get the pace right? Could I keep afloat if he was struggling? And would my heel, which had been a bit grumbly and tender all week, hold up?

Not such a bad spot to hang out and wait

Ian had crossed at the starting line at Mattingley Bowl near Winchester at 04:45 and had been abliged to run the first 50 miles solo. We'd had reports that he'd needed a calf massage and was starting show early signs of fatigue. He arrived waving and smiling, but looking like he'd been working hard. He took a few strawberries from the back of the car and he and I set off together, initially at a walk. 

Pacing duty begins

 It didn't take long to settle into a rhythm; steady running, and walking on all but the gentlest hills. From Chantry Post it was a fairly short hop to the aid station at Washington, where I caught up with the lovely Mrs S and Abi.

With Abi at Washington aid station

From here climbed out of the valley up a long long hill and we were out in the exposed heat of the South Downs. Ian was struggling with nausea and his concentration wasn't good. We kept talking, but it was evident that he was having to work hard.

Water was a bit of an issue. I poured the remnants of a bottle over the back of Ian's head, but he was overheated and really wanting to cool down. With relentless open ground for a way ahead, I checked the map and planned to grab some water from the River Adur; but I realised this was a no-go when I stared down at steep muddy and contemplated the risk of becoming a liability by getting horribly stuck. We carried on, passing a drinking water trough. We pusahed like mad on the tap button, only to see a sign saying it was out of use. But soon afterwards we reached Botolphs aid station and the problem was solved.

Another long uphill trudge, and we were back on the ridge with a stunning faraway view of Brighton and Hove. Soldier on, keep going... Ian finding it harder to talk coherently and he was getting very low on energy and enthusiasm. I was feeling fine except for two technical problems; my water bladder was leaking sticky Tailwind all over my bottom, and my shorts were causing terrible thigh chaffing.

Brighton and the sea just visible

 

Ian is putting a brave face during his toughest phase

 

The hotel at Devils Dyke slowly loomed larger, and as we reached to top we could see Mrs S and Alice waving at us. Ian sat in the chair and managed to eat a couple of roast potato chunks and stawberries, while we tried to keep him focused and positive. But in truth it felt like he had a mountain to climb to get to Eastbourne in one piece.

 

At Devil's Dyke crew station, hanging in there

 

Over the next few minutes Ian was talking about the negativity which was crowding in on him and his diminishing enthusiasm. We arrived at Saddlescombe Farm aid station for a brief stop, and I pointed out a sign saying that we'd done 66.6 miles - two thirds down, one third to go.

This stop was a bit of a turning point. When we started moving again, we tried out some mental distractions, starting with listing countries of the world from A to Z and then boys' names ending in N. Then we moved on to quiz topics (Ian was frankly rubbish at naming 10 English rivers) and riddles. The next hour went by in a flash. The heat was starting to retreat, and Ian was looking a whole lot better. The Jack and Jill Clayton Windmills suddenly came into view and we were met a combination of Ian and Tam's crews.

Clayton Windmills, handing the baton over to Matt, and Ian has perked up nicely

 

30 miles to go, Ralphy

 And that was it for my stint. Matt and Ian set off into the evening light, and Mrs S and I headed home via some very welcome fish and chips in Shoreham. One way and another we seemed to spend much of the night watching Tam and Ian's respective location trackers and celebrating the moment when Ian and Matt crossed the finish line at about 03:15, very comfortably under his 24 hour target.

Here are my stats for the day. It had been a full-on day of anticipation, excitement and pride in being part of a team supporting Ian's magnificently gutsy effort. 100 miles in under a day in a heatwave... fantastic.

The last photo before sundown

 

Slightly spaced-out Centurion

Moreton 10, 2021

A second consecutive weekend of heading off to the races! This time it was to the Moreton Equestrian Centre and a campsite in a lush sunny field. What a difference to last week's rather grim, chilly weather. Mrs S was complaining about my weather forecast readout, which promised humid, overcast conditions.

Heading to the start area, it was apparent that there weren't a lot of competitive runners around, although there were plenty of unicorn-themed fancy dressers. There was no urgency at all to get to the start line for the first wave set off, and as we started I found myself just ahead of a guy in yellow, Mitchell.

Not the most competitive start

After a lap of the field we were off into a long clockwise lap of the first half, comprising flat trails and fields around the Frome valley. There were lengthy stretches of longish grass which made for surprisingly tough going, and plenty of fiddly gate catches to manage. Mitchell edged forward soon after we left the equestrian grounds, but I was able to keep him in sight, grateful to have him lead the way and take the pressure off looking for signs. At one point he slowed to a walk complaining of a stitch but he recovered soon enough and went back into the lead.

The second half was a lot more interesting and enjoyable, with lots of brisk hills over duney heathland. There were numerous wiggly turns and lots of weaving – nicely technical and enjoyable. By this stage I was steadily overtaking marathon runners, in for a long haul on a hot day.

About eight miles in I was surprised to suddenly catch up with Mitchell, who was walking. I urged him on, while simultaneously putting on a burst of speed to open up some distance… such can be the contradictory behaviour of friendly competitive racing! I pushed up a steep sharp hill, felt good, and pressed home the advantage while I could.

From here it was broadly downhill and then a final flat section to the finish, just shy of ten miles. I flaked down in the sunny grass in exhilarated relief. Everything had felt great. Mitchell arrived and we shared stories of the running the hot 2018 London marathon and managing Achilles injuries (mine was feeling in good form). I was given a pile of first-place goodies (medal, cider, hip flask, tea towel, biscuits, mug) and enjoyed cheering the lovely Mrs S home, second lady! Some inadvertent shortcut shenanigans from the nominal (qv last week’s race) prevented her taking the top slot, but nevertheless, this was our best-ever hisnhers trophy haul. A top morning out.

Oh, and here are my stats.

Mrs S storms to a moral victory...

 

...and collects her winnings

 

 

 

 

Ox Half, 2021

We arrived at the Rushmore Estate in good time on an unseasonably chilly and blowy May morning. Luckily, the ever-prepared and lovely Mrs S had an emergency woolly hat in the car which kept me from freezing before the race began. As a bonus, we managed to park almost right next to Alice.

Here we going running races in May on a cold and windy morning

It had been a bizarre and rather fraught week. On Tuesday morning I was nearing the end of a pre-breakfast bike ride when I passed a dead deer lying right in the middle of the A27. After a bit of indecision I cycled back to it and heaved it off the road and onto the grass verge with one hand holding the only leg that wasn't covered in gore. Twenty seconds later, I was feeling early warnings of a twinge in my flank. Six hours later, I was in all sorts of trouble. Everything was painful. By Friday morning I still felt like I had a mountain to climb before I was fit to race, but one Mrs S treatment and forty eight hours later, I was feeling much better.

Back to the plot. The socially-distanced wave start process was a bit slipshod, but I set off on a steady descent in the first wave. Heading back uphill through Rotherley Bottom, a big periglacial dry valley, I was decisively overtaken, and then again after about 5km. I was nominally in third place, and there was no sign of anyone else as I recognised familiar scenery from the Larmer races, which took me up Straight Knap and around another big dry valley.

There was a long, attritional climb back up to Rushmore and the halfway point, and then a long downhill along a gravel track. I was entirely on my own at this point. There were a couple of signs pointing off to the side, but they seemed to be designed for people heading the other direction, and I assumed that they related to a different Ox race taking place over the weekend.

I went through a longish section without any signs, and I started to fret that I had missed a turn. But then I passed a sign and all was well.......... until the speedy runner from Rotherley Bottom overtook me again, saying 'I think you've missed a section'.

I was now in a right funk. I really, really didn't want to finish the race having cut corners, and moreover I was now in danger of finishing in second rather than third position. I kept runnimg while mentally thinking about my options. Just keep going? Wait at the finish for #2? This felt morally better, but I could imagine causing confusion at the finish area.

So I did something I've never done before in a race. I turned around and headed back the way I'd come. I crssed paths with a confused-looking bloke quite quickly and kept going a bit further for good measure before turning around again. I think it was about 400m each way. I just hoped I'd done enough to cover the distance.

It was another long and tedious straight-line ascent through enclosed woodland before turning off and snaking alomg an undulating narrow track in woodland full of wild garlic and a tooting cuckoo. There was an ambiguous sign that could have been pointing either down the main gravel track or a small path. I stayed on the main track but soon felt anxious that I'd gone wrong. I kept going, sensing I was near the end and could find my way to the finish somehow... but a yellow sign appeared and all was well. Into the finish field and a gentle descent to the line in 1:43:33.

I hadn't even felt my back, and my tender tendon had held up. I'd slowed in the second half, but this was the furthest I'd run in almost 6 months and I had much to be thankful for. I've no idea what the result was, but my shortcut and resulting shenigans will go down as one of stranger race experiences.

At the finish line with Alice and Mrs S

Endurancelife Sussex 10k, 2021

This was our first race of 2021, and for me a bit of a punt after 10 weeks or so struggling to recover from a tender Achilles heel. Not wanting to tempt fate, I had downgraded my half marathon place to a 10k.

It was kind of appropriate to be returning to the Sussex race as the first step out of racing lockdown, as the race in March 2020 was our last before the Covid shutters came down.

We arrived nice and early in Eastbourne, where it was bright and chilly. The start zone was familiar from the Beachy Head marathons. The lovely Mrs S was doing the half, and she set off  ahead of me on her staggered start.

Mrs S starts her half marathon

 

Back to the car, change, loosen up a bit and then jog up to the start. By now it was warming up nicely. My official start time was right at the beginning of the 10k window at 10:30. A few minutes before this I wandered over to say hello. I wasn't at all surprised when they said 'oh, you can start now if you like'.

And so that was it - I was racing again for the first time in over 4 months. Fantastic! And my ankle was feel OK - even better. The course was a a reverse direction of last year's race (which had started in Birling Gap), and the coastal route was familiar, including the stonking 110m hill about a mile in. Hands on thighs, pushing and panting and up to the top of Beachy Head and the most fabulous view of ahead of me. I tried not to gurn too badly at the photographer, and enjoyed the long descent.

Luckily my running form hadn't deteriorated whatsoever over 10 weeks

Soon enough the 10k-ers separated from the HM-ers, and I was surprised to see so many folk ahead of me... the allocated start times really were very theoretical. I went up a hill and seeing no sign, went through a pedestrian gate at the end of a field and turned left (straight on had a red X sign), and I found myself running in the same direction as everyone else, but on the wrong side of barbed wire fence. Luckily the wire was not too taut and I managed to do a swift legover crossing.

A sharp right turn a short while later, and we were heading north-east on a long, long uphill drag into the wind. I was trying to diligently follow the signs, but somehow yet again I ended up on the wrong side of a fence. I climbed onto a gate wrapped in barbed wire and had to do an awkward balancing leap to get clear of the electric fence on the other side. For a moment it was touch and go, but thankfully I got over without any tearing or shocking of the flesh.

This was a seriously attritional, sapping drag of a hill. I know the score well; get in gear, focus, and pick off the runners ahead one by one. And then some guy in black came cruising past me, and it wobbled me a little, reminding me that I really wasn't match fit.

Eventually I reached the top of the hill and Eastbourne and the sea opened up ahead of me. All down hill now. I picked up the pace, dodging the brambles, thickets and roots, and was chuffed to overtake the MIB before descending to the road, into the park and across the finish line in 46:54. Soon after returning from getting changed at the car, Mrs S came tearing down the hill for her own finish.

Straight on for the finish, love - don't end up in the headmaster's office!

The race had been tough, but great fun. It was lovely to be able to run competitively and chat to others at the finish line. Here are my stats, and here are the results which came out later - I'd managed to grab second place. A fantastic outing!

On being vaccinated

 Last Thursday, 18 March, I had the first of my two Covid-19 vaccination jabs. I had been quite surprised when I received a call-up text message from my local GP surgery on 11 March, as over 50s had not yet been advertised as being eligible.

The invitation

 I was delighted by this, and promptly booked my slot. Salisbury Cathedral, eh?  This sounded wonderful, but I imagined that it wouldn't, surely, be in the cathedral itself but in ancillary building, probably a storage unit.

In the ensuing period before 18 March, lots of European politicians seemed to be casting doubt on the safety and efficacy of the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccine, but on zero clinical evidence. A political slap to Brexit Britain? Who knows. But I was hoping I'd get the AZ jab as a small token of defiance against this self-harming mumbo-jumbo rhetoric.

Thursday morning, and I arrived in Salisbury in good time. Travelling to the medieval city, especially on a working day, felt like a treat in its own right. I approached the cathedral close, and found a 'vaccination this way' sign. A left turn through a high wooden gate, and I was walking through the stonemasons' yard.

Lots of interesting bits and bobs

Thirteenth century gargoyle meets twenty-first century wheelie bin

And then through a side door and into the cloisters, where a hearty lady, wrapped up against the cold, invited me to join the long queue which was snaking around the cloisters.

Queuing around the cloisters

 This is going to take forever, I thought, but the socially-distanced line kept shuffling forwards and it can only have been ten or fifteen minutes. I was loving the experience of it and thrilled to be part of something historic in a setting... well, so historic. The queue was calm, orderly and silent. I contemplated Dunkirk and felt very proud to be British.

Before long I was in the main body of the cathedral, where there were about twenty vaccination booths set up. A lady asked for my details, and I gazed around the place, loving it all. But the best part was the organ music. The chords were familiar. What was it? It was the theme tune to Star Wars! I was thrilled by the exuberant, imaginative big-heartedness of church and state coming together to make something as functiuonally prosaic as an injection so memorable and vital.

The jab zone

A brief soundbite

I was called to my booth where a lady asked me a few questions and requsted that I expose my left upper arm. I took off my jacket and then my sweater, but as I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt I could still only just reveal the target spot. For a moment I thought I'd have to take my shirt off too, but luckily no need, and then it dawned on my I was still wearing my woolly hat, in a cathedral for heaven's sake. I felt a proper idiot, but what I didn't feel was the injection... I was a bit bemused when I was given my post-jab leaflet (and yes I'd had the AstraZeneca jab; take that, Macron and Merkel!) and warned to expect some mild side-effects. Had she missed, I wondered? She hadn't, of course. I felt gratifyingly ropey that evening and a bit off-colour on Friday, with a tender arm throughout the weekend.

Walking back to the car, I felt moved, humbled and uplifted by the experience. Almost a year after this whole wretched business had properly started, I had been invited to take my place in the national queue to be inoculated, a place determined by need and not by money or influence. The sheer scale of the effort and the kindness and good humour in which I'd received my jab - not to mention the glory of the venue - had been really inspiring. I'm full of gratitude.