Le Petit Jog

Any recent doubts are beginning to subside.  I think I may be able to do this.  The knee is behaving and allowing me to not only do the heavy strength exercises and cycling, but I am actually running. Outside. Any surface.   The cycling is continuing - but now with the added endurance and sprint sessions.  My coach is confident. I'm confident.  The running distances are building.  Carry on - onwards and upwards.   Forget the Great Reset back in August, this is no conspiracy theory - it's actually happening.  It's 'Reset: take two'.  I'm not going to be able to test out as much as I would have wanted, but there were times I didn't think I'd get here, so I'm thankful.  My aim is to give it my all and then reassess in March for the final push, hoping that the knee is up to it.  The animals are out in force to guide my way again, although some more as spirit guides than others.  A run/walk around Dallowgill moor was led ...

I stagger as I jump off the treadmill or the static bike after a hard session. It's not because I've pushed it too hard.  It's motion sickness - but it only lasts for a couple of seconds.  It's a weird sensation due to the brain thinking the running/cycling action is actually propelling me forwards. Then the reality kicks in as I dismount the motionless machine and the inner ear and cerebellum realises and resets. It feels like I've taken something spacey that I shouldn't have, and I look like something out of the Wolf of Wall Street.  Heavy. Its not helped by the techno beating sound that's pumped into all gyms - certainly all the ones I've ever been in.  The moment you open the door it's 'Oontz. Oontz. Oontz. Oontz', mixed in with the TV blaring out something like Bargain Hunt.   I've been trialling different headphones to try and block it out and get to my own state of nirvana whilst pounding the treadmill or pedals.  Over-ear head pho...

I've been giving route navigation a bit of a think. Maps are so last century. I reckon it would be at least 52 OS Explorer maps to cover the entire LEJOG route. Using phone navigation is fine with the right app, but getting it out at every junction or keeping it out so I can check I'm on the right path will be too laborious.  I need my hands free for poles or eating or drinking or praying to the gods. The received wisdom from all my ultra friends is to use a GPS watch with maps. For the event itself, the daily GPX file is given by the team.  Easy.  Just follow the watch.  So I've bought a new Garmin watch as an early Christmas present to myself. And now I know why everyone says you need to practice using it.  I planned a walk to M&S (about 1 mile) taking a circuitous route to test it out.  The display scale is too small, then shifts to being too big.  And every time I try and change the display I create another lap, making it buzz annoyingly, or I ...

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...

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 ...

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, an...