RunningCommentary

Henfield Nine Mile Fun Run

'Fun Run'. There's an oxymoron for you.

Had this race started at Oh Nine Hundred I'd have missed it completely. The 10:30 kick-off gave me time to collect my thoughts, struggle out of bed, splash some cold water on my fur-covered face and study the bloodshot, more-droopy-than-usual eyes squinting back at me out of the bathroom mirror. The horror, the horror . . .

Apocalypto: The Mince Pie 10

Funny that this race should feature the word 'mince' in the title. Around four miles in a portion of the three hundred starters were offering a fair impression of Larry Grayson teetering off to measure an inside leg as they negotiated slimy, treacherous terrain. Our Spartan forebears would've been less than impressed.

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!

Jog shop JOG - 14th October

A tough 19 miler a couple of weeks ago on the Jog shop course. A good, resolute, hard run at Lewes last Sunday
- the Downland 10.

Now a stern test awaited me in my lead up to the Beachy Head Marathon. The Jog shop Jog, 20 miles of mostly offroad,
unrelenting downland slopes.

What is it when it comes to racing that the body fatigues and yet you can have a blinding training run on the same
course. Perhaps it was all the races this year, I need to look at Sweder's adage that less is more.

Brighton half, Steyning Stinger Marathon, Two Oceans Marathon, 3 forts marathon, Seaford half, Dorney 10k, Bewl 14,
Henfield half, Firle 20k & Lewes 10. A lot packed in this year already - calf and achilles trouble aplenty. Methinks I need
a rest after the Seven Sisters shenanigans. Ah but the Brighton 10k, Duck Pond Waddle and Mince Pie 10 also loom.
Who could not be tempted with names like those.

A swift start from Brighton Marina, a couple of miles in the bloody left calf is grumbling - f*^k, still 18 to go.
I calmed myself, eased off a bit, waiting for the offending muscle to calm down and hopefully warm up. This injury
has been off and on and flares up, I run through it and suffer at the end. Today was no different.

Espied me old mucker Soft Al at the first drinks station, has been loyally doing this for the past 6/7 years taking
Sam's laissez-faire attitude to race organisation in his stride. Turning up at the shop the day before the race to
organise the 2 most important water stations on the race. Carting all the prizes, finish paraphenalia and
water barrels. Enduring a farmers wrath for being 'On moy land' having to backtrack down a private road, to a
safe haven. Luckily there was plenty of marshals this year to cover for any miscreant's endeavours to remove race
markings, which they had done again.

Anyway I digress with a rant. Once water and gel had been supped I eased through Saltdean, past the football
pitches onto familiar offroad terrain. The first killer hill - a half mile of torture then followed by a tranquil
half mile of deep tracks, cows and their respective pats. LouLou & Clare marshalling 2 gates, it's great getting
local support, people you know and respect cajoling you on.

The steep descent into the North face, today foggy and less resplendent then usual, the vista obscured. I was
chasing fellow B&H runner Amanda, my strong descent and calf behaving pulled me ahead to slingshot up the hill.
A strong steady climb ensured I past several runners, content in my knowledge of knowing the course intimately
enough to approach the obstacles with hard work and certain respect. A second gel at the top and a slug of fluid,
Amanda caught me - I gave chase onwards and upwards over the course of the Yellow Brick road. The approach a slim
hedged corridor between 2 houses suddenly opens up onto the downs and 2 little tough ascents before the road itself.

The Road long since faded is a mere carriageway for farmland vehicles, but is etched indelibly on the minds
of anyone that has endured long winter months of training on this course. It is exposed and catches the best and
worst of weather, but to me it is simply glorious. I edged up to Amanda vowing to look for her on the snake when I tired.
I continued ahead picking up the pace, bounding down the first section of the 'W' - better known as the first 'V'.

Many runners taking the safety of the gate in the descent - I cleared the cattle grid in one bound, scooting around
the corner for the first hideous ascent. Right, "I'll walk up the steepest sections and rehydrate and 'drop the
hammer gel on the second V" I thought aloud to myself. I trotted up the last bit, a short cross downland path to the
second descent and took this steady, it was treacherous underfoot in places. A water station loomed, I eschewed it,
had plenty on board - at least another half litre. Glug, gel, glug up the ascent. Great thats the toughest section
out of the way.

A fairly effortless trek for a mile and descent down the steep Castle Hill, into the nature reserve. Felt good,
didn't want to put the mockers on it yet - calf was behaving at the mo. Caught several runners and sped into the
Snake approach this is particularly arduous after all the climbs covered and isn't even the start of the hill proper.
Remy was marshalling the bottom, no one there last year and some people went wrong. Took another glug at a gate,
right let's go - then the calf problem flared up - "Bugger". I strolled up one section taking my final gel, some more
fluid and resigned myself to a slow down and slowish time. Had hoped for under 3 hours. Poodled up the many windings
of the hill and approached the last bend. Gary who I hadn't seen since Saltdean, then Amanda caught me. She was
hurting she said but obviously not as much as me, as she sailed by - "come on, moyles" but I couldn't respond.

Met my sister at the top gate - encouraged and elated to have pushed hard this far. I decided to enjoy the last
5 miles of reasonably flat trail, road into the finish. Ticked it over down to the reservoir and the aforementioned
'Farmers land cum private road'. The last water station - Al there to greet me. I had picked up a bottle of Sports
drink at the top of the Snake and this helped me survive the last few miles, easing some of the tiredness out of
my limbs. A pose for the camera at this point with my customary reversed two fingered salute and trying to show
a look of confidence and effortlessness.

I sped down the road, knowing the end was only a couple of miles away - easy miles normally after a short run,
but hard after this endurance fest. I clambered up Windmill hill to be greeted by 'Paul the Goat' and a welcoming,
glorious vista of the Marina. Going through the back gate of St. Dunstan's (home for blind servicemen) - I know
an altogether weird route in it's entirety. A short hop under the road at Ovingdean and the last Mile and a bit.

I had a fellow B&H runner in my sights Dave 'the hat' Whittle, a fellow struggler. Just didn't have enough to reel
him in though. I plodded along and allowed myself to cool down into the finishing stretch, a couple of minutes
behind Dave - No idea of time, I never wear a watch these days. Dave was 3:05, myself a couple of minutes behind.
Same as last year - bo**^%ks, oh well next year will be better, I hope. Train harder, avoid injury, less is more,
build up my core strength!, quality over quantity. My third JSJ in a row, and no nearer sub 3.

Lets hope the Marathon looming will see me have one satisfying run, aside from Lewes this year.

At least I have god botherer Rog-air for company. I think I need some divine intervention.

25th Henley Half Marathon (marathondan)

I continued the "less is more" race preparation by going out for dinner the night before - although I was relatively abstemious on this occasion. Little Naomi then made her own contribution, waking up just after we got home and keeping me up till about 1.15 am. As I began to nod off in the rocking chair next to her cot, I realized I didn’t have much of a race plan. My sleep-deprived brain tried to multiply various numbers by 60 - 8 minute miling, that’s about 1:45 pace... 9 minute miling, about 2 hour pace. 8 minute miling sounds a scary pace to me, it’s not something I can sustain in training for very long. Surely the race day buzz doesn’t count for that much? But that was the ballpark time I was aiming for, so somewhere between 8:00 and 8:30 pace it was to be. Zzzzzzz.

It was a mighty fine Autumn morning. Due to the recent postal strike, the first 1,100 chips sent out had been cancelled, with all chips and numbers to be collected on the day, so we’d been asked to arrive at least an hour before the start. We took the sensible route into Henley this year (not via the bridge) and breezed in shortly before 9.00, while the queue arriving from the other direction tailed back into the distance. Any fears I had about the distribution of 2,000 race packs were quickly dissipated, when I realized we were in the hands of the formidable Henley Bridge Rotary Club and the local Air Cadets. I queued for 30 sec at an alphabetically-labeled table, and was sorted. Compare and contrast with the recent HCG 10K, whose organizers didn’t seem to be aware of the existence of the alphabet.

We were off dead on 10 o’clock, with a lap of the field and then out into the town streets. There wasn’t a huge amount of space, so I took things easy to start with. It’s a lovely route: from the rugby club, over the Thames bridge in the middle of town, then along the river – mostly tarmac, but stretches of grass and gravel path – back into town for some welcome support and to cross over to North of the river, then out again to the countryside, up the notorious Fawley Hill, and back to the rugby club.

I was startled to see the first mile come up in 7:45 – had I done that in training I’d be feeling awful. The race-day buzz continues to amaze me. OK, I thought, I’ll see how this goes, maybe 8 MM and sub-1:45 is well within my grasp after all. We meandered out of town and back again, with cows, sheep, narrowboats, cabin cruisers, rowers and canoeists for company – all of whom seemed to be having a more relaxed time than us. Heading back into town, the support increased to a good level and was very welcome. Over the bridge again, and back out again towards the North, cutting through the grounds of Fawley House retreat centre, with church service in full swing, and then onto a single-track tarmac lane.

I was checking my time at every mile, and holding 8 MM quite comfortably, with a 30 sec cushion. Then the road started to acquire an... upward quality. It’s always annoying when that happens to roads. This must be The Hill - apparently the only one of note on the course. This was round about mile 8. I think all would agree it’s a decent hill – it must go on for at least a mile; a slow, steady climb, definitely runnable (although I did take a short walk break) but hard work on the quads and the lungs. Until then, I had felt fully in control. After the hill, I was in survival mode. The next mile post showed I’d lost about 3½ minutes on the hill, and my 1:45 target was exposed as folly. Still, onwards and upwards. Well, downwards now, as I coasted down the other side. I felt that with only 4 miles or so to go I could afford to pick up speed. At the bottom I immediately regretted it, as my hamstrings pulled as tight as the ropes on a millionaire’s privately-moored yacht.

10 miles, at last. The beginning of the end. Head up, stretch out the stride, step up the breathing pattern, dig in. This last stretch was a little reminiscent of the desolate equivalent in the Reading course – along a main road, with traffic streaming past. However, as we entered the last mile, the support really stepped up in number and volume, and was very welcome.

Time seemed to slow down now, with every 10 seconds now taking a minute according to my watch, but I finally turned back into the rugby club and managed to find a 50m sprint to the finish. I crossed the line in 1:48 with a huge smile on my face, partly due to seeing my family at the finish line, and partly due to just being part of a well-organised, well-attended, well-supported, weather-blessed, damn nice race.

Expectations - The Lewes Downland Ten

It's been a weekend for exceeding expectations.

England and France did it on the Rugby field, each vanquishing mighty southern hemisphere foe with endeavor and skill, much to the chagrin of the pessimistic sporting media. My own beloved Rowdies did so by bagging more than their customary solitary goal against plucky little Wigan just when one-nil to the Row-owdies had become the terrace chant of choice at the Trafford Devilbowl.

And then there's Sweder in the Lewes Downland Ten.

Health Club Games 10K (marathondan)

I don’t understand race pacing. The “start slow, finish fast” philosophy. Why is that better than “start fast, finish slow”? If I’m aiming for a PB, surely it’s better to squeeze every ounce out of the tank early on and then crawl home? The last thing I want to do is get to the finish line and know that I could have kicked for home earlier. I reckon it’s all psychological – we want to enjoy most of the race and only suffer for the final quarter or so. Maybe for longer distances – say 10 miles plus – some different factors come into play. But I reckon that for 10K at least, “foot to the floor all the way” is the approach to take.

With this in mind I rolled up at Dorney Lake, scene of recent RC glories, and a mere ten minutes down the road from home. Organisation was fairly poor – the complaints are fairly well summarized on the Runner’s World comments, although I think anyone complaining too hard about the lack of goody bags may have their priorities wrong. But overall, the event had the air of not being organized by runners, or indeed by anyone who’d organized a running race before. Hopefully they’ll listen to the comments and improve next year.

With my fast start in mind, I allowed myself a five minute warmup and stretch, and then lined up fairly near the front of the very small field. The starter – also the registration guy, and I suspect the sole organizer of the event – proceeded to explain the route to us, which kind of suggested to me that there would be no marshals out there and possibly no route markings. The prospect of the race leader getting confused and taking the entire field down the wrong path seemed a sudden possibility – although then again, how lost can you get running round a bloody big lake?

The hooter hooted and I quickly settled into a fastish pace. The flat, open course allows you to guage your position against the whole field. With not many more than 100 runners, we were soon strung out, and I hardly passed anyone or was passed throughout the rest of the race. Two laps of the lake also breaks the distance easily into four, which helps mentally. The first quarter was a struggle, as always, and I finished it on about 12 minutes. There were no km markers – which immediately made me suspect the accuracy of the distance – but in the second quarter I noticed that the lake had markers every 250m, allowing a simple pace check. Along this stretch I managed a couple of 250s in 1:10.

By halfway through the third quarter I’d added at least another 10 sec to that 250m time, clearly paying the price for the fast start. Now was the time to decide the end game strategy. (That sounds incredibly pretentious. The end game strategy should simply be “run as fast as possible”. But one has to occupy one’s mind somehow. No doubt some people wonder how we can fill a website with essays about running. “I put my left foot on the ground. Then I put my right foot on the ground.” Etc.) I reeled in a fading bloke as we neared the end of the lake, then resolved to do the same with the woman who’d been 50m or so ahead of me for most of the race. But as we turned for home, she obviously had other ideas, and the gap was never closed. With about 2k to go, I abandoned my precious breathing / step pattern synchronization, and went for it all-out. About 1k later, with two men passed, my stomach was approaching the dry-heave threshold, and I had to cut back again. Good news in terms of the plan – I had nothing left to give. A final spurt with 50m to go saw off any chance of a challenge from the guy behind. Watch stopped on 47:01, about 20s outside PB, later confirmed by the chip. Pretty damn pleasing, given my lack of training.

But it was still noticeable that after 5 mins or so I was fully recovered. Surely if I’d given my all, I’d be completely drained? (Like one guy flat out on the tarmac.) Could I have planned it better?

Then back home I see several reports on RW of GPSs recording a distance of 10.38 km. This error is no great surprise, as per my comments above. But that would make my true 10K time… a PB by over a minute. Another victory for less-is-more training, and if I ever put together some serious training then breaking 45 mins might actually be achievable.

A final note – someone seems to have nicked the RC logo – albeit in different colours. Unfortunately I only saw the vests from the back… :)

Firle Running Festival - 20K Race

I wrote a lengthy, considered piece about this excellent local race filled with observations and descriptions of the terrain, vistas and conditions.

Sadly, still unfamiliar with the typepad software, in an attempt to preview the piece I inadvertently dispatched it into outer space and I'm too fed up to re-write it.

So here's the short version.

Old Races

There's a couple of race reports in my old forum retrospective.

Hong Kong Hashing 2005
Our Man in Hong Kong

2006 Paris Marathon
Hot In The City
Prelude
Time Is A Factor
Race Day
Fear And Loathing
Race Report Part I
Race Report Part II
Race Report Part III
Post Race Panto

Two Oceans Marathon 2007
Tales From The Two Oceans - Race report and observations from the long, hard 2007 race

Almeria Half 2007
Putting The Band Back Together
Bag Drop Blues
Race Report
Show Me The Way To Almahilla

Steyning Stinger 2007 - Man I loved this race!
Race Report Part I
Race Report Part II
The Killing Fields

Sweder

Best Of . . . A Sweder Retrospective

I've created a sort of 'best of', as much for myself as anyone else.
I may add to this as I get chance to peruse old posts, but for now I've stuck in a few of my favorite races and a couple of pieces that I enjoy re-visiting from time to time.

You'll find them here.