Le Petit Jog

I don't want to get political. But I've been turning left for quite some time, and now I'm a bit sick of it. Ok, it's been a change, with a smoother ride, less bumpy and less chaos. But all the doom and gloom about what's gone on in the past and how it takes short term pain for long term gain, it's all got a bit pessimistic.  I want to turn right again.  I want to get back to the good old days. You know, like reaping the rewards after investing in steep climbs, by sitting back, drinking and enjoying the less taxing rolls.  Like partying at the top despite others still struggling to climb up.  So I ditched my usual left inclination, reformed and turned right the other day.  And I have to report it felt good. I came out in a cold sweat. Breathless.  But I did it. I actually turned right for once.  Nothing to do with politics of course (I'm very comfortable with which way I'm turning on that front). It was whether I turn left or right out of my house on my

Let me take you back to the 1970s. The particular time I want to transport you to was when I was 6 or maybe 7 years old. Around 1976 to 77.  Long hot summers when we were left to our own devices to entertain ourselves. No electronic devices of course, cycling instead for what seemed like miles; playing in the woods; climbing through the cavernous concrete pipe that channelled the stream under the farm track; swings on trees that reached for the sky. Every day was summer, or so it felt.  This was the time when I was obsessed with looking through the Guinness Book of Records. Cover to cover. Again and again. Including the now hazy memory of seeing a picture of someone who'd completed LEJOG in the fastest time, on something like roller skates.  This was the time when there was the Montreal Olympics. I don't remember watching it on TV, but I do remember being given a book that listed and pictured all the winners with their amazing feats. Cover to cover. Reading it again and again.

Just back from supporting my running club annual ultra on my bike. Twenty nine miles from Ripon Cathedral (known as Ripon Minster up to 1836) to York Minster. We call it Minster to Minster or M2M.    It's not a race; it's set up to allow everyone in the club who wants to run it in similar paced groups; setting off at different times; fully supported with pit stops along the way, so that we all arrive in York at roughly the same time. After following the winding River Ure/Ouse, everyone congregates at Lendall Bridge near the end before all 60+ claret clad runners jog the final 350 metres together up to the Minster front door, clapping and cheering every last one in.  Icecream-holding tourists wondering what the hell is happening. Smiling faces all around. It's then off to the pub for a pint and lunch.  M2M was set up to give people within the club an inclusive introduction to ultra running without the external pressures of things like competition and cut off times, and has g

And, with a squelch, we're off (again)! Back on a (cough) slightly delayed and amended plan.  The knee has been set free. The troublesome flap of torn meniscus has been successfully nibbled off.  If only I'd had a crystal ball at the start...  Three months standard conservative treatment (which turned into four) of allowing the tear to sort itself out didn't work.  This conservative approach for tears like mine often results in what they call auto-amputation, meaning no need for surgery and all the complications that surgery can bring both in the short and long term.  However, surgery has now worked. So far.  Yay 😊. I walked out of the hospital following arthroscopy and partial meniscectomy that morning without needing to use the crutches they gave me, and managed a gentle half loop parkrun walk four days later, and a low resistence flat 40 minute cycle ride a further three days after that.  Regular knee exercises pre- and post-surgery have helped.   So, with just over 10

As I keep trying to maintain my aerobic fitness despite not running (the knee op has been pushed back to next week), it feels like a constant battle to motivate.  On one hand I have all the positive drivers: 'there's still plenty of time'; 'I am learning (and practicing) psychological techniques to keep going'; 'my strength and core exercises will stand me in good stead'.  On the other it's: 'there's not much time'; 'you're not even running'; 'you do know this is going to be impossible'; 'my knee hurts and it will take too long to recover'.   So, I've been trying to find some joyful positives to keep me going: Firstly whilst on a long cycle ride, when my mind was wandering almost as far as I'd ridden, I came up with a new mantra for my training based on my learning from talking to people who've been there and got the T shirt: More TOFU PASTA builds a LEJOG running master: More Time On Feet Using Psychol

I've just finished reading 'Meditations from the Breakdown Lane', a book by James Shapiro chronicling his 3026-mile run across USA in the 1980's.  He describes the mental and physical strength needed, as his body and mind evolve, along with the ever-changing environment, with a 'will he/won't he make it' bit in the middle.  (Spoiler alert). He finishes, surprisingly not with elation, but more like how a dream ends.    My midsummer night's dream this week started in a hotel in Morecambe Bay.  I was meeting the runners and crew who are doing this year's LEJOG at Lancaster as they progress on their shortest day (only 24 miles) to Kendal.  I met them shortly after 8am at Lancaster Quay - who knew that Lancaster had a quay? - with old, tall 18th century warehouses, remnants from the textile industry - onto the tidal, wide River Lune, connected to the hinterlands by the Lancaster canal.  The runners and crew had been staying in Kendal and arrived in a coup