RunningCommentary

Now come on you guys

Own up, who was it?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/7119073.stm

And wher's my share????

A Twist In The Tale

A lovely day for a chilly, hilly lope along the cliff tops.

Our target: The Wire, an eight-mile, out-and-back course well known to the Jog Shop Joggers. Home of the good Good Friday friday run this is the perfect, simple way to get into winter marathon training. An eminently sensible choice; easy on the legs, gentle on the lungs, building slowly towards . . . well, who knows? With the decision deferred on my spring schedule December looks like a pressure-free time to enjoy running and construct a solid base.

Sound, sensible stuff.

2007 Brighton 10K

Cold foulness wrapped its unkind arms around a shivering Sussex morning. Trees bobbed and weaved as if to dodge a beating from the savage wind. I peeked out from the warm embrace of my duvet just as Mrs S arrived with two steaming mugs of tea.
'It's not very nice out there' she beamed.

It had been a far more agreeable evening. Antonio of this parish had arrived in Lewes care of Southern Trains and the Devil's Avocado Express, hot-foot from Almería via Gatwick. After a brief tour of the town we visited with Mrs S and the canine clan before heading for the Lewes Arms and a restorative pint of Harvey's. Captain Tom joined us in the convivial public bar, supping ale and watching the Saturday night crowds ebb and flow. After seeing our visitor back to the station I stopped off at the Charky for a late-night feast. I heartily recommend this calorific pre-race schedule; a couple of pints of Harvey's, including the admirable Mother-in-Law, a tasty blend of Old and Bitter, followed up by a well-stuffed donner kebab. Delicious!

Ahh summer. (Mid life Crisis Man)

Well, almost summer anyway. The sun is high, the weather is warm, and the cricket is full tilt. I’m sitting with a nice glass of rather flavoursome Italian montepulciano (made even better by the favourable exchange rate) all the while watching Australia demolish Sri Lanka on the cricket field. Again. Even without the now retired super champions Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath, cricket looks too easy for this Aussie side. The first test was won by over an innings, and as I type, Australia have a lead in the second test over Sri Lanka of 382 runs with 9 wickets still in hand. New boy Phil Jacques has made back-to-back tons, Adam Gilchrist has now hit his 100^th test match six, and Mr. Cricket Michael Hussey has maintained his batting average at a Bradman-esque 85. Brett Lee is bowling superbly, as has new ball counterpart Mitchell Johnson. The only concern for Australia is that Andrew Symonds has sprained his ankle, but it barely matters. This two-test series is all but in the bag.

Bliss.

But.

One slight problem. This morning I made a fresh plunger of Lavazza and sat at my kitchen table. From there I am afforded a view of the mountain that dominates this town – Mount Wellington. The top half was shrouded in cloud, so I couldn’t see what I knew was happening, which was the annual Point to Pinnacle 21.4km race up the bugger, which was happening without me. The reason? Lack of training, sore knee, too much booze and sausages – the usual reasons. But I’m not unhappy about it. The truth is that I did train for it, and the training hurt. It hurt to the point where I seriously wondered why I was doing it, and then with relief realised that it wasn’t compulsory. And so I stopped. There’s always next year. Meantime, I am happy with an occasional jog and many long walks. I am fond of long bush walks on the mountain, and the walks and run routes around my new home are short but very pleasant, so it’s a kind of low-impact running nirvana. Never enough to get me up my bloody mountain, but sufficient to keep me happy. And I am.

And never better because Ponting is batting and the lead is up over 400, with 9 wickets still in hand.

And after the soft Italian red, there’s a nice bottle of Balvenie Doublewood single malt to prolong the enjoyment.

Life is very tolerable.

Joint Statement. (Andy)

The problem is not having nothing to write about, but having far too much. So many majestic horses having bolted, why bother to contain the few that are left behind?

Which reminds me. Did I dream it, or did I once hear some speaker somewhere say: “It’s no good bolting the stable door after the horse has…. er, itself bolted…” Maybe I’ve blocked out the metadata in sympathy.

Hands Across The Oceans

How on Earth did they do it?

Those pioneers of engineering, the visionaries, the get-out-and-do-it merchants who took wild dreams and made them reality?

I can't imagine what effort of will it must have taken to carve a shipping lane through the corridor of the Americas, but here it was before me; the Panama Canal, a causeway for modern intercontinental transportation, playground of the steel leviathans of intermodular shipping.

Rainforest

Ladies and Gentlemen I have found true running heaven.

It lies a mere 1.5 miles from my hotel, a dull plod through rain-washed streets and a dangerous dash across several lanes of untended motorway. No need for i-pods here my friends; the forest calls you with its myriad of native tongues; whoops, screams, cackles, cries, tweets and twitters, the lazy splash of heavy raindrops onto giant leaves, the rustle of the canopy as its inhabitants join the 'rush hour' high above.

Panama Jack

Independence Day, Panama style.
Streets stuffed with marching bands, majorettes in gleaming white, row upon spotless row of naval ratings, brass and shoes perfectly polished to sparkle in the fierce morning sun. Air laden with humidity causes the ubiquitous palms to bow respectfully.

In the midst of all this a lone figure plods, i-pod strapped to his ears, G&T/ Mojito sweat flooding his vest and staining his shorts. His face is a violent red, his tread weary, impossibly heavy, a lumbering, stumbling wreck of a man. This man is an Englishman. He is trying to excise the spirit-deamons from his gin-soaked, sleep-deprived, travel-tortured soul.

Ironman

Here the nice history of a heroical MLCM compatriot.

An Australian boy used to do the Australian Ironman. His most big illusion was to take part in this challenge with his own son.  Finally, his wife gets pregnant, but unfortunately, the child was born with brain paralysis… This was not an obstacle for this man, who continuously was training hard. When he was 60 years old he was ready and he booked two places at the Ironman: for him-self and his son.

As you know the Ironman proofs are extremely strong:

1.- 4 Kms swimming in the cold and early morning

2.- 180 Kms cycling on montains

3.- One full Marathon

World champions have arrived to finish this race in 8 hours and 15 minutes, but a very trained normal person takes at least 12 hours…

This man took almost 17 hours. Circuits should be closed, but in this case, they remained open until the night… The video made me cry…

http://es.youtube.com/watch?v=rPLCaAu_H2U