Wimbledon Common Dash for the Splash 10km race review

We’ve all seen that bit in a BBC wildlife documentary where the herds of wildebeest frantically scrabble their way down a steep river side, before wading across and emerging on the other side, unless the crocodiles get them.

Well, on Sunday at about 930, on a cold, hard but bright morning, I and 199 hardy soles went through our own river crossing on Wimbledon common. Down a slippery mud bank, through 2 feet of freezing water, and up the other side. Feet sodden, socks soaked through, and still 9.5km of hard, muddy, slippery running ahead. Brilliant.

The Dash for the Splash 10km was my first race for over two years, which is appalling, but it was certainly one to remember. The course not only involved the above water crossing, but numerous sections filled with grey, gloopy mud that weighed you down and long rising hills that dried your feet out. Then there was a middle section where we ran through saturated common ground, filled with water from the recent storms, forcing you knee-deep in freezing water to find the path again.  

As such it wasn’t a course for a personal best but a time of 45 minutes and 31 seconds was one I was very happy with. It would have been quicker but for the fact the final kilometre was on unbelievably slippery grass across a playing field.

I was overtaken by about five runners in spikes, while my old trainers (thankfully chosen over my shiny, clean news ones) just failed to gain any traction at all, forcing me to run like Bambi and focus more on staying upright than putting in a hard kick for the finish.

Still, even losing those places I came 37^th, which wasn’t too bad. Now, the next time I do a 10km (possibly next weekend) the lack of mud, water and river crossings should make it seem a doddle.

A short review of all the books I read in 2011

Another year, another collection of books read. I must be getting slower as I read fewer than in 2010 which was in turn fewer than 2009. Or perhaps I'm reading longer books.

Anyway, a short few lines on each one, with links to previous and longer reviews I wrote during the year where relevant.


1. Do Not Pass Go – Tim Moore

An enjoyable and mostly entertaining jaunt around London looking at the history of the creation of the Monopoly board and an insight into how each major square has evolved since that time.

2. Why England Lose - Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski

An engrossing read on that perennial question of why the England football team are no good, and it was refreshing to see that we're not just useless in our inability to "get stuck in" but also due to our utter lack of technical capabilities.

3. Nocturns – Kazuo Ishiguro

An underwhelming series of short stories from an author I normally enjoy. Each one seemed too flippant and throw-away to capture the interest and all lacked a plot strong enough to remain in the memory.

4. The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet – David Mitchell

A fantastic novel, set in isolated Japan during the 1700s when its sole contact with the outside world was an artificial island used by the Dutch as a trading outpost. Probably the best Mitchell of the lot.

5. Notes from a Big Country – Bill Bryson

A slightly tiresome serious of columns collated into a book that sees Bryson riffing on the craziness of the US of A.

6. The Hours – Micheal Cunningham

Seen the film so read the book: very clever and engaging.

7. In Europe – Geert Mak

Some 900-pages of Europe's history told by a journalist travelling around the continent at the turn of the millenium. A long-slog but great insights and anecdotes throughout.

8. Chemistry for Beginners – Anthony Strong

A clever idea of a novel told through science papers (and diary extracts), that started strongly but the plot was slightly woolly and was about 100 pages too long to really sustain the interest.

9. Why We Run – Robin Harvie

A nice, philosophical take on the notion of running, by a chap who regularly runs 40-miles each weekend. That's a lot. It felt strained at times, though, as if the quotations from the great philosophers that he uses were found beforehand and then each chapter moulded to fit around them.

10. The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim – Jonathan Coe

Coe always tells a good tale and this one was no different but it just wasn't quite strong enough in any direction, either the characters, the plot or the attempts to show the madness of the world modern (See: What a Carve Up!), as his others, but nonetheless it was enjoyable.

11. The Picture of Dorian Gray  - Oscar Wilde

On purchasing a Kindle I went on a free-classic-book buying spree, with this the first work I downloaded. As witty as you'd expect and surprisingly gothic too.

12. Robinson Crusoe – Daniel Defoe

Man trapped on island and the subsequent adventure he has. Good fun.

13. Treasure Island – Robert Louis Stevenson

I just kept hearing the voices of the muppets in all the relevant characters having seen the Muppet's version so often during my childhood but the original work still contains plenty of excitement.

14. The Jungle Book – Ruyard Kipling

A collection of stories, rather than a single tale, which contains some elements that went on to form the bulk of the famous film, but is different in many ways. For instance, Sher Khan is killed by a stampede of wildebeest organised by Mowgli - inspiration for The Lion King?

15. Inverting the Pryamid – Jonathan Wilson

A detailed look at the evolution of football tactics of which I still find amazing that the first formations were 2-3-5. Madness.

16. Reading like a Writer – Francine Prose

Reminded me of being back at university but it was interesting to look at some of the reasons why the best writers are just that.

17. The Corrections – Jonathan Franzen

Finally got around to some Franzen. Engrossing and moving in places but the story of Chip going to Lithuania just didn't work for me at all.

18. Trouble on the Heath – Terry Jones

A load of rubbish. Read in a day, found it lying around, waste of time.

19. To the River – Oliver Laing

Another semi-philosophical book akin to Why We Run in essence, using the writer's affinity with Virginia Woolf and the river Ouse to contemplate her relationship with rivers, the writings it inspired, its role in history and beyond. Quite beguiling in places.

20. I’m Feeling Lucky – Douglas Edwards

Man joins small internet start up called Google, the rest is history. A bit dry in places as Edwards worked in the marketing area but nonetheless still a great insight into the madness of a company that grows from nothing to world's biggest in a few years.

21. The Good Man Jesus and the Scroundrel Christ – Philip Pullman

Pullman proves he's quite a good writer once again, with a clever take on how Christ became the cult figure he is today by stealing the thunder of his more humble brother Jesus.

22. The Atlantic – Simon Winchester

A nice read on some of the history of the Atlantic, the people around it and it's role in human history. Some chapters were a touch week but most offered some interesting insights and anecdotes on the cold, wide ocean separating half the world.

23. Freedom – Jonathan Franzen

After one Franzen, another. This one was, for me, not quite as good as The Corrections but an interesting, clever, damaged novel with a motley collection of characters going about screwing up their lives in unique and odd ways.

24. Player One – Douglas Coupland

A nice antidote to Franzen's endless words, with this short, fast-paced thriller taking an interesting idea that the world reaches its peak oil production and subsequent mayhem ensues. The idea only five people would be an airport cocktail lounge in a major US airport seemed a tad odd but there we go.

25. The Valley of Fear – Arthur Conan Doyle

A classic bit of Holmes, with Doyle using his two stories in one trick. First he sets up and the solves  the mystery while the second half gives the back story of how the amazing turn of events came about in a sleepy English resort. A lack of Holmes in the second half is a let down but the story was interesting enough.

26. How to be Good – Nick Hornby

Another quick easy read, which took a cleverish idea and ran with it as far as it could before becoming too ridiculous. I liked the character of Katie and thought the ideas of charity and the lack of relationships with neighbours in the streets in which live for years on end were well played out, but it's hardly a Great Novel.

27. A Film by Spencer Ludwig – David Flusfeder

Not sure what I really thought about this one: on one level a simple, fun road-story about a father and son: the father dying, the son a sort of successful film director but also a bit of a failure at life. But, while it flowed nicely, I couldn't shake the feeling the author was trying a tad too hard all the time. I appreciate that's a bit woolly but that's the only way I can describe it.

28. The Sisters’ Brothers – Patrick DeWitt

One of my favourite books of the year: a beguiling, lyrical and engrossing story of two murderous brothers heading to San Fran in 1851, the height of the gold rush, to commit, well, a murder. The historical setting let DeWitt paint some great scenes (one brother discovering toothpaste for the first time, shooting a bear that was killing his horse, meeting a mad prospector by a river), while the story is suitably engaging and strange to keep you hooked throughout. Recommended.

29. The Sense of an Ending – Julian Barnes

The Booker Prize winner and a very clever novel. Short but concise and at times reading more like Barnes musing on life than a novel, but the plot is nevertheless well structured and keeps you guessing until the end and beyond.

30. The Steve Jobs biography – Walter Issacsson

Read for work but I enjoyed this on a personal level too as there's no doubting the impact Jobs made on the world, whether you liked him or not. Jobs comes across as a huge tyrant but one who knew what he was trying to achieve and more often than not he succeeded, with almost those on the end of his tongue-lashings also revealing that their time working with him was some of their best working days.

31. Perfect Rigour – Masha Gessen

A study of a reclusive mathematician who proved the Poincare Conjecture was not a book I thought I would enjoy but Gessen tells the story as a writer first, rather than as a great maths genius (as she is too). This helps make the tale of a genius from Russian surviving the random machinations of Soviet Russia to become a great mathematician working in the US, going on to solve one of the world's most complex maths problems then reject the $1m prize a fascinating read.

32. And God Created Cricket - Simon Hughes

A slightly tiresome read, as Hughes adds a lame joke to the end of every other paragraph charting the history of cricket from Ye Olden Days to The Present Day. There's some nice colour and interesting anecdotes throughout, but the Ho-Ho sarcastic tone is too wearisome to be enjoyable.

33. Guns, Germs and Steel - Jared Diamond

Probably one of the first academic (or semi-academic) works I've read since university, this is an interesting and thought-provoking work examining the reasons why Europe and to a lesser extend Asia became the world super powers (of the last 500 years), rather than the Africas, Americas and Australia.

Diamond's argument is, roughly, that a combination of temperature, the abundance of animals and plants fit for domestication and the availability of certain materials, and a resistance, or lack there of, to disease spread by these animals, helped these areas of the world develop at a faster, more technologically advanced rate, than those without, which lead to an unfair balance when they first came into contact.

Clapham Common 10km post-race thoughts

Long, long time readers will remember in 2009 I ran the Richmond10km in 42:20 minutes, setting a then personal best for my 10km abilities. Since then I’ve always wanted to try and go sub 40 minutes - you know, just because.

I entered the Clapham Common 10km, which was promised as a fast, flat race, perfect for breaking your PB by a friend, and after my entry in March was delayed due to a broken toe, I finally got back the fitness and stamina to  use my deferred entry for October’s race. 

So, last Sunday, while Australians and New Zealanders drunk themselves into oblivion in bars around the Clapham area, I and some 400 other fitter souls took to the start line at the Clapham bandstand. 

My attempts at sub 40 minutes were easily out done by the chap at the start line promising to go sub 34 minutes and within 100m he was storming head and eventually broke the course record in 32 minutes something or other - terrifyingly impressive. 

Me, though, I pounded on and kept up the pace I needed to hit to break my target, although by the fourth kilometre was conscious I was falling ever-so-slightly behind too, so kept having to ramp up my speed, before easing off, which isn’t the best way to do it really.

The course itself was not actually that conducive to a fast speed, either,as it was  annoyingly twisty and turny, and filled with stragglers from the 5km that set off before the 10k runners, which led to some annoying moments trying to pass on the corners. 

The fact it was two laps of the same course was also irritating as psychologically you know there’s nothing new to look forward to and you have the same dull course to do as you start the second lap.

I came through half way at almost dead on 21 minutes, one minute off the pace, and not looking forward to my second lap, especially with the heat of the day now bizarrely hot, considering it's October.

I tried in vain to make up that errant minute but it’s very hard to run the second half of a race faster than the first and although I managed to about break even and I only managed a disappointing, but respectable, 42:52 to finish 26th. Not even a PB.

I think I needed to have done more speed training around the roads of Wimbledon and it shows that perhaps my performance at the more hilly Richmond course really was at the height of my fitness, some two months post London marathon.

Still, it was fun to do and now I have the latent fitness for 10kms I can train harder specifically for the sub 40 minute barrier, rather than the distance of 10km first and then hope the speed is there afterwards.

While writing this blog my girlfriend asked me why I wanted to write a blog about running a 10km – the answer is that I don’t really know, I just find it interested to document the experience of the race. 

I know not many people read this blog really, but hopefully those that do, or stumble across this post, might find something to interest them – the internet is too big anyway, so one more blog entry hardly matters anyway does it?

Mo Farah winning the 5,000m

Earlier this year I was sat in a restaurant in Hong Kong. I was exhausted, hungover, jet-lagged and hungry. Despite this I felt compelled to try and convince two of my dining companions that running races are genuinely fun when the topic reared its head.

I can see why those who have never strapped on some trainers and tested themselves against the road, the elements, distances and indeed others, would possible view running as a staid, dull sport, but those who have done it, particularly those who race, understand it is so much more than that.

Watching Mo Farah sprint to victory having already run 4,800m in South Korea earlier today I was reminded of this, having myself just laboured to a measly 2km around the streets of South West London. The hit of adrenaline you get as you storm towards the finishing line, over any distance, is like nothing else. I play football and tennis but the buzz from running, particularly as you near the finish line, is better than these sports for a sense of exhilaration you rarely experience in day-to-day life. That runners high you so often hear about.

I once finished 17th in a 10km in Cornwall. It was a hard, wet, muddy, cross-country route, but come the final 200m I found myself neck and neck with some club runner from Newquay. I thought I had the measure of him coming into the final stretch and so started to kick for home, pulling a few metres ahead, then I sensed him coming back at me, no doubt determined to prove his credentials. He was on my shoulder.

We matched each other stride for stride. I told myself I would not let him past me, I would beat him. I dug in again, pushing harder again, and once again pulled away by a few meters. We were barely 50m from the line. The crowd of friends and families that had come to cheer on loved ones noted our battle and cheered louder as we hurtled into the finishing gate. He was closing again but I dug deep and held him off to claim 17th, rather than 18th.

Utterly meaningless of course, but at the time, in the moment as it happened and the glow afterwards, it was exhilarating, and of course exhausting. He shook my hands afterwards and we congratulated one another on a great race.

That moment, more than the London Marathon or other races I've run, always reminds me of why running really needs to be experienced before it can be judged, why my two associates in Hong Kong where so wrong to laugh at the suggestion running can be fun and it's why watching someone like Mo Farah sprint to the line to claim gold for Great Britain is so exciting.

 

Me post marathon with Will.

The Guildford return

I returned to Guildford on Saturday, not for a 10km this time, but to go for a nice long walk (6.2 miles!) with my girlfriend.

We had a lovely time exploring the route I had run at the time (more sedately of course) which involved a blood curdling screams at the sight of a wasp, hurting our necks through staring at a woodpecker in a tree, and arriving at the stunning views of St Martha's Church (see picture).

It's lovely escaping London for a while, even if only a few hours on a Saturday in another town only 30 minutes away. The novelty of seeing a bus that doesn't let you use your Oyster card (that symbol of TfL oppression) is never lost on me.

In the future, perhaps NFC technology will mean all buses will have a standardized computer system for ticket purchases so we are never without money to catch a bus, which would be handy.

Ironically, I had been set to run a 10km today but due to breaking my toe a couple of weeks ago, I was unable too. I am walking normally though, as my 6.2 miles jaunt evidences, but it'll be a little while yet before I strap on my running shoes again yet.

Keep on Running (and therefore enjoying pizzas more)

Did you have a good Christmas and New Year? I did - it was too good in fact. I had far too much food, booze and even the occasional take-away, thanks to a tempting pizza menu offer that came through the letter box one cold night.

As such all my good fitness based work that had taken place in the autumn was completely undone. So, during a night of quite contemplation, I decided the only thing for it was to enter a 10k race to force myself to get training.

So March 20 in Clapham Common is the location and going sub 40 minutes is the goal.

Long-time readers of this blog will remember I did a 42.20 in Richmond about 18 months ago which is the fastest I've ever run (over that distance) when it was quite undulating and very wet. I also did a 44.12 on a three-lap course in Hampstead that took us up a climb of almost one enter kilometer each time around. As such I am confident I have the capabilities to hit this time, even if it is going to be painful training for it. Still, no pain and all that…

I'm not just a speed merchant though, and do enjoy running purely for the pleasure. Even on cold nights there's actually sometimes nothing better than getting outside and pounding the pavement for a few kms, listening to some choons (Arcade Fire's The Sprawl II, the top song of the moment (still)), or chatting with my running mate around the highways and byways of South West London.

So far training is up to 4.5km in 22minutes, which is not too far off, need to add 500m and lose two minutes, and hopefully with increasing light and receding cold this will become easier as well.

The other benefit of all of this running is now I can enjoy a pizza after work without any guilt...

River Running in Putney

I've been living in the sumptuous surrounds of Putney for about six weeks now and it's very nice.

Putney Heath is lovely, I saw a heron perched on a sign in a lake that said "No Fishing" – even the herons are witty! – while it's nice having a high street so near that has major shops. Don't get me wrong, Stroud Green Road has its charms, but it also had it's very odd shops.

Mostly, though, I like the vicinity of the river – I like catching glimpses of it from the tube as you rattle over the bridge, I like spying it down the high street, and I love walking and running by it.

With the evenings creeping in I've found myself jogging along the silent river in near darkness, with the lights of the city illuminating and reflecting up against the river into the arcing light in the sky – Putney's east-to-west layout makes for some wonderful colour-changing skies too – and I get a new burst of energy by the sight of all this combined together, finding it both relaxing and yet enthralling, while beside the river just rolls on, rising and falling throughout the day, as we scurry madly above, below and on it, as we have done for millennia, and doubtless will continue to do so.

P.S. back to Double Deckers - it was my girlfriend who introduced me to these delights, the record should show.

Panic at the airport

Airports are funny places, I've said it before. Yesterday, flying out of Rome I went through several emotions, mostly fear, frustration and mad running, as I attempted to grab an earlier flight home.

It worked, but only just. You'd think upgrading someone to an earlier flight would be easy, but it comes with surcharges and taxes and incurred costs. Or it would, if the carrier's computers had of been working. They were down though, so they sat there, looking all Italian, shrugging their shoulder nonchalantly, "Waddya want me to do about eh", they seemed to say.

Nevertheless the company who had flown us out there was very accommodating and said they would do it for us (me and another journo), via their booking agency. They did. But, despite the man at the check in desk refreshing his screen like there was no tomorrow, nothing came up on his system. Much confusion all round

So instead I spoke to man at the check-in desk instead: "We're trying to pay, we can't pay over there, and there are seats free, what's the loss?" and he relented, letting us through…at the exact moment they check-in for the flight was closing. We had about 35m before boarding. Could be close…then we saw the passport and security queue. Long…very long.I shouted to everyone, "really late, missing flight, please let us through"…amazing how kind people are when a mad English man is shouting broken sentences at them.

We went through, panic rising all the time as the clock ticked down 20 minutes to go. Then the man from the booking agency rang. "It's sorted, you're on the flight." "Great, we're going through security" I said. "Make sure you make the flight, otherwise you'll have missed the plane and your seats on the other plane will be gone" he replied. Great, just what I wanted to hear. We hurtled through security, no time to put belt back on, went careering on towards the gate to reach…a dead end. What?

A nice Croatian man said, "There's a train, it will be here in a moment". Four or five minutes pass. Getting close now. Throat very dry, nerves rising. Train arrives, pulls in, doors don't open for 30 seconds…it’s a test train (A TEST TRAIN!). One minute later, real one arrives. All fine, zips to gate, we get out, and arrive…boarding delayed by 10 minutes.

A New Zealand man says, "I saw you running, thought we were late or something". He was off to New Zealand. Rome to London to Hong Kong to NZ. That last leg would take 11 hours. Our globes and maps must not give true perspective on distance. You could fly to LA from London in 11 hours. And that's across the globe. I am confused by distance.

Still, made the plane, sat down, arrived home three hours earlier, in daylight, at no extra cost. Exciting. Sort of.

Up the Gherkin

I love being high in London. No, not drugs (you low-minded individual) but height, elevation, altitude, your highness. It gives a spectacular view over the many and varied buildings below, and unique perspectives on the curve of the river, the location of distant landmarks like Battersea power station, and just a rare chance to escape the pounding pavements below for some peace and quiet.

I was up the Gherkin yesterday (which somehow just sounds a bit, well, risqué, doesn't it?) having climbed the 1,037 stairs to the top as part of the NSPCC's step change event and you can't deny Norman Foster's phallic building is yet another magnificent addition to the London skyline, like the London Eye. Being inside only underlined the unique architectural design of the building, at least from my non-existent knowledge of architectural design view anyway.

In the very top of the building, where it reaches its peak, it really does feel as if it could be a superhero's, or super-villain's, lair (I can't decide which, having not decided on which side I would fall if given super powers). Furthermore, because of the pattern of the building – an endless series of W's, like this: WWWW, (if you look at it right) it made me think that I could indeed live and fight crime / plot my universal domination, up there. What, with being a Worth an all.

Run Run Run...

If you like running you can read two race reports by me in this month's - November's - Runner's World UK. Another little freelance job.

Also, just when I was thinking about writing a post about how much I love The Only Living Boy in New York by Simon and Garfunkel I spotted David Hepworth has written something similar on the Word website about The Boxer.

What I like about The Boxer (on top of what it says on the Word site) is how it starts from such a simple, descending guitar pattern but by the end has turned into this loud, booming affair with big drums and duck whistles - inspired - and the repeating la la laaaas become almost hypnotic, a mantra, a chant. Meaningless but somehow sounding meaningful.

I'll do my post soon. Watch this space. Well not this space, nothing more will appear here. The space where that post will appear. Look, I'll let you know.

F is for...

Fleet Foxes

When I and my ex-housemate were in training for the London Marathon (which seems a life time ago now), one of our training runs was at Silverstone race course for a 1/2 marathon, which you can read about here.

To get there we rented a car and drove the 75 miles or so up the motorway; it was a fun day out. On the way there, and back, we listened almost exclusively to the Fleet Foxes debut album to the point where now, whenever I hear Ragged Wood, or Sun it Rises, or any tracks from that album I can conjure up, or at least recall dimly, the sensation of that day. Hurtling down the motorway in the early morning sun, the sky a sharp blue, the air fresh with the mixture of spring warmth and chill, or later, sitting in the stationary car with the sun pouring in as we waited to enter the car parks, sitting in a traffic jam on the motorway heading back home, and the rest.

It's fascinating that music can become so synonymous with a situation or location that for days, months and even years after you only have to hear a line, a certain guitar intro, a piano fill, and you can be instantly transported back to another time, another place.

Number crunching

I went to Guildford on Saturday, for the second time in my life, to cover the Guildford Hard as Snails 10km for Runner's World. It started at 9am so I was up at 6am. I did it in 49.40 finishing 79th from 350 odd runners.

Guildford seems like a nice place; a canal, rowing club, rolling countryside. After the race I was able to buy a lovely pasty from a West Cornwall Pasty Company store for £3.30, and then travel back into London with a bunch of Portsmouth fans heading to Arsenal, where they lost 4-1, who were all on the lager by 10:50am.

Speedy

Did you see Usain Bolt last night? Man. That. Was. Fast.

The collective awe from the stadium and on the internet was palpable, reaching the top of the Twitter trending topics almost as quickly as he'd run; and knowing millions around the world had watched it too, all dumbstruck by the sight of another human being running faster than anyone has ever run before, was somehow exhilarating too.

Meantime, I've written a piece for runners on sirjogalot (a website run by a nice chap I met through Twitter and then subsequently in real life, who also ran the London Marathon back in May) on tips to help break Personal Bests or PBs that includes an obligatory reference to Usain Bolt. Read it here.

Run for the hills

For the first time in 3 and a bit weeks I laced on my running shoes, strapped on my fancy Garmin watch, and hit the road. With a 10km coming up at the end of August in Cornwall (a tough, hilly 10k that could, with the weather we're having, be a mudfest) I felt it was better to try to get back to peak fitness as soon as possible to make the efforts of going sub 45m on such a tough course a possibility - my 42.20 in Richmond seems a long time ago now.

I set off at a steady pace, finding my feet again, enjoying the evening sun and the music in my ears. After about 2km I was feeling good so picked up the pace a little to around 4.50m per km, but after another 1km or so, had to ease up again as it was starting to give me a stitch. After about 4.5km though the pain eased off and I once again started to increase the pace. There were quite a high number of other runners out and about too so it was good to be able to spot someone in the distance and either try and reel them in, or at least use them as a pace marker (albeit one that was a long way away).

After 6.5km I decided to head for home so followed my route back and. My watch showed I finished on 7.3km in 35.52. About 5m per kilometre. Not bad considering it was the first for a while. But I'll need to be up to 4.30 per km if I'm to hit 45m in Cornwall - and that's on a much harder course. But with 29 days left to train, I'm confident it can be done.

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In other news - about half way through Leviathan and I have to say it's rapidly turning into one of the best books I have read in a long time. I'll finish it before I write too much more.

Cheese running

I went for my first run last night since my 42.20 in Richmond and it was quite hard. Only did 4.56km - such accuracy due to shiny Garmin watch - but did do third km in about four minutes (which is quite fast) so that was good.

The reason I only managed such a short distance is because I've picked up this really bad habit. When I get home I am always hungry so grab whatever is to hand in the fridge and munch. Now, despite knowing that cheese is terrible pre-running, it's also very good to bite a hunk of (loving using the word hunk in relation to food) to fill the stomach and feel fine for about 15 minutes.

Every bloody time I do this I even think "it'll be fine!" and for 15 minutes it is. Then after about 20 minutes it all goes wrong. I always end up having to stop due to agonising stomach cramps that are brought on by my own stupidity. Most of the time I even feel like I want to throw up and I have a painful aching inside to the point where I have to stop running.

Bloody cheese. I must resist your wily charms.

Caption: People chasing cheese; they should try eating it first then running down there.

Raining on the parade

A lot can happen in 45 minutes: you could boil 15 eggs in a row. Iraq could have launched weapons of massive destruction at the West. You could run 10km. Well, I had never managed that, despite three valiant efforts previously, I had always fallen short in the 47m period. However, on a humid, rain soaked Saturday morning in Richmond park I finally beat the 45 minute mark finishing in a time of 42m 20s.

This time placed me 10th from 90 runners and 9th of the male runners. The race was won by a women in 38.23.

It was a diverse run (route here): undulating through paths for the first two kilometres then, heading mostly downhill, on a path running alongside the main road for the next two km before the final kilometre over grass back to the start / finish area, and the whole thing repeated for the second lap. Having set off at a fair whack I used the downhill of kilometres 3 and 4 to keep this speed before easing through 5 to 8, before pushing on over the last two km, again using the hill to kick the speed back up.

Having been aiming to beat 45m it was good to so comprehensively pass that time. However, on telling my time to a friend who had ran too (45.30) he said, 'oh, you could go sub 40 on a flat course; like at Clapham!'

Oh dear.

Run Away!

There's a day for everything these days. Or if it's not a day it's a week. Sometimes people go mental and have a whole month dedicated to something. And if it's really, really special, like potatoes, then the entire year is dedicated to it. Don't tell me you missed out on the International Year of the Potato in 2008. You did? Shame.

Today the celebration / awareness raising is for running. That thing you do where you walk but, well, faster. I think this umbrella terms includes all forms of running, including sprinting and jogging, but perhaps it's just running - for the three are different you see. Joggers are plodders and don't go beyond their comfort zones. There's nothing wrong with that, it's important to be out doing any exercise, but I bet most don't run into the Zone of Discomfort and stay there in order to try and improve times and so forth. They shouldn't have to if they don't want to neither. That would be like some form of fitness dictatorship. Sprinters, by there very nature, are not really runners, in that they just use up all their energy over 100m, 200m, 400m or, at a push, 800m. Don't me wrong. It's massively impressive. But it's sprinting, not running.

No, to be a runner, you have to be going between 1km and 26.2 miles, running at a pace that is teetering on the edge of the Zone of Discomfort (ZOD), or in it, for as long as possible. When I trained for the marathon, I was a jogger, with occasional forays into the ZOD for races, or mid-week runs (note, runs), but mostly I jogged. Now, post-marathon, I am a runner. I keep running fast, too fast sometimes, and have this weird urge to constantly beat the clock (as a gameshow host might say) and every other runner I see. Petty I know.

Meeting Brendan Foster

It's all a bit futile really. You can't beat time, or Chronos himself, and I'll never be an Olympic gold medal winner. Indeed, when I started my marathon training I secretly hoped that perhaps I would discover a latent talent for marathon running that would culminate in me running to gold and glory at London 2012 and retelling my story: 'Well it all started in 2008 when I got a place in the London Marathon...and here I am now Brendan!' (Brendan Foster, the former runner turned BBC presenter - it's just the person I imagine interviewing me in the fantasy.)

However, 4 hours 22 minutes and one second after starting the London Marathon, this dream was shattered. Exhausted. Bent double in pain and in a trance-like state of tiredness. Sadly, I will not be winning any golds for Great Britain in 2012. Sorry everyone.

Nevertheless, I continue to run, or now run, not jog, and have found myself with some bizarre fixation on completing a 10km in sub 45 minutes. Perhaps because my three previous 10km have all been 47m and what's two minutes? Turns out it's quite a lot as I've been finding out trying to train towards this. This Saturday will be the fourth 10km - Richmond - and we'll see how I get on.

I hate spiders, I don't eat chilis, but...

Back to running and more precisely, National Running Day. The thing is (and while running is not for everyone, in the same way bungee jumping, spider holding, or chili eating is not for everyone - like me), it's something people should try or think about trying, with an open mind about their own abilities and what they can get out if it.

Because the human body is actually one of the greatest running machines on the planet. Perhaps the best. It can sprint, run or jog over short, medium and ridiculously long distances. A marathon is small fry in comparison to what the human body can do, especially if it has to. There's a book called 'Survival of the Fittest' I've just started reading that makes the very interesting, and yet obvious point, that thousands of years ago humans, male and female, young and old, had to be able to run - both distance to catch prey or move around, and sprinting, to escape predators, or, again, catch prey. We evolved to be able to do these things and it helped us become the dominant species. Brains and thumbs would also like me to point out their help in this - okay guys, noted.

It's all your fault Brian. Hey, sneaky. No, it is your fault brain.

But, brain, you've also caused a problem. By helping us evolve and become intelligent, you allowed us to create technology, and domesticate animals, and build food processing facilities, and burger joints - all things that allows us to eat, drink and be merry, without having to exert barely any energy. So while our bodies remain stuck in the past, our society is forever pushing forward. We think we don't need to run, or even worse, that we can't. We can, we've just forgotten how.

The point is running is actually one of the most natural things for a human to do. It keeps us fit (ready to run away from sabre tooth tigers, or yoofs with knives), it helps us catch prey (like, er, chickens? and catch people who've robbed us) and it staves off diseases (from the humble cold to heart problems).

So, although today's National Running Day is just another in the plethora of events that come and go and barely register on the radars of people who are not already interested in the day that's being promoted, it is at least worth considering running as an activity to partake in. Or at the very least, enjoy the fact you have a body that, theoretically, has been able to - and continues to be able to - overtake or outlast almost all other beings on the planet.

Crouch End 10k: rain, doughnuts and more rain.

This morning it was a short walk over the hill to the start of the Crouch End 10k. During the night the heavens had opened so surely it was all set for a crisp, dry race? Perhaps not.

We queued up and, about five minutes before the start, the heavens opened...off we went, around the start which was in the local park, being slowed up by the narrowness of the course and the number of runners, which meant the first kilometre passed in a terribly slow 5.35m. The rain was sheeting down now and I was soaked through.

Kilometres 2, 3 and 4 passed quickly (after running a marathon 10km seemed quick anyway) and soon I had caught up with a friend who was running too and we ran onto kilometre 5. I had been aiming for sub 45 minutes on this run but halfway around I was at 25 minutes so clearly not on schedule. I made a quick calculation and figured if I really ran hard I could do 5k in 20 minutes.

So I pushed on and went careering around the course, overtaking everyone in sight; there's no better feeling in running that reeling in runner after runner, using the overtake as a catapult: you can almost sense their annoyance at someone passing them at pace. It's good, self-centred, motivation.

To kilometre 8 and I needed to run the last two kms in nine minutes something. Just about doable. Perhaps. So on I went, the rain lashing incessantly down, the wind buffeting us from all sides, and I spied the 9k sign coming into view. I sprinted on and after around 200 metres had to slow down. How the marathon professionals do it, I have no idea. I now had two minutes to finish the final 800m. Not going to happen.

I ran on and entered the finish area in the park. Around the final few corners, including a great sprint around the final bend to overtake two runners who had just overtaken me (ha!), and home in 47m 37seconds. Tantalisingly close. I think the lesson learned here was, need to run the first 3k faster and ideally start further up the field to avoid the 50m runners. This was my third 47 minute 10k, from three, so at least I'm consistent.

A delicious doughnut from a local bakery and a banana later and, with my two runner friends found, we headed home. As we did so the rain stopped and the sun came out. Typical.

P.S. In the race information booklet that was sent out, there was a comedy little mantra that read, 'remember, you'll go faster with pasta, but when you get to the end make our free doughnuts your friend.' Which I love. I actually thought about this at kilometre nine. Yum.

The London Marathon 2009

At 9.49pm on Saturday night a good friend texted me to say good luck and remind me of the words of one Winston Churchill, ‘If you’re going through hell, keep going’. Inspiring stuff, although my favourite Churchill is ‘Never ever, ever, ever, ever, give up.’

The world's healthiest festival site

Sunday morning in Greenwich park and such thoughts are far away as we enjoy the ‘world’s healthiest festival site’, in the words of my running mate, of fancy dress costumes, flags and banners, and music. Photos with Team Go at the NSPCC and a video interview for their promotional DVDs, quick loo breaks, lathering up in sun tan lotion in light of the ridiculous sun; which would become a mainstay of the day.

Slowly we take our place on the line, chatting to a nice chap named Matthew from Warwick University who was going for 3hrs anything (I hope he made it) we await the start. The 9 minute miler pacer turns up and all eyes turn to him; like a god among men people flock to him, aiming to follow him for their 3.54 time.

The hooter sounds and we funnel towards the start and, here’s the line…we’re off and running, literally. No walking, straight into the running. The crowds are thin but friendly and the only bad thought is, ‘that sun is quite hot…’

Bands play, people cheer us on, a vicar blesses passing runners (it burns, it burns!) and the first ‘go on Dan’ cheers start. This is great! Soon we merge with the blue runners. The booing commences, who knows why, but quickly subsides, and we’re all together. Away into the distance stretch the runners. All bobbing up and down creating the effect of waves on the shore on a choppy sea.

We're on TV!

We head past the Greenwich Naval College – an amazing building – and manage to get on TV. As Matt Baker (him off Blue Peter) pulls aside a man in a devil costume, we wave inanely at the TV and, checking later on the iPlayer, yes there we are! Around the charred body of the Cutty Sark the crowds swell and the cheering increases. For another 3 miles the crowds are just amazing. Music and bands, sweets and biscuits, high-fives, name cheering, all just inspiring stuff.

Mile 8 and I spot my work colleague who gets a good picture (click) and gives me a nice buzz. Up to 10 and my running mate decides to stop for a quick break; we agree to split, I wanting to push through the slight twinge in my stomach, knowing the second wind will kick in soon.

Mile 12 and the realization Tower Bridge is close by brings in that second wind, and running over the bridge I remind myself to admire the sight of the bridge, the crowds, and soak up the cooling breeze of the Thames. The sun is still beating down, and although cloud cover is intermittent, it doesn’t help.

Half-way

Over the bridge and half way in 2.07. Off target for a sub 4hr run but given the heat I’ve already decided it’s not worth pushing too hard. Round to 14 and the best bit of the race – see my parents (who pass me the much reminded about Snickers bar) and a huge NSPCC cheer point – who cheer me like a world champion, and I run on feeling fed and loved. Only 12 miles to go!

On down Narrow Street (very narrow it is too) I spot Michelle Collins cheering people on, and start to overtake the people around me. Realising I’m being foolhardy, I rein it in and ease up, telling myself to slow down. Into Canary Wharf and the crowds show no signs of easing up (amazing!) and I take the opportunity to run through another fine mist shower system. Still so, so hot. In fact I have now seen several people being treated on the side of the road and it’s a good reminder to run sensibly.

Through the financial center I pass Kate Lawler who won Big Brother 3, and start to feel the pain. Just 6 miles to go and we’re going past Billingsgate market, very hot, very bland, very hard. Hamstrings getting tight now. Push on. If you’re going through hell, keep going.

Ah, yes, pain. Hello.

21 miles – only 5.2 to go. Only, ha. I don’t hit the wall here but I do realise my hamstrings are now hurting and there’s nothing I can do about it. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever give up. Just put one leg in front of the other and keep going. Nothing lasts forever.

23 miles and the crowds are huge. But, I’ll be honest, they’re doing nothing for me. This is an internal battle now. The pain v me. I will win. One leg in front of the other. Running through the last shower station makes me shiver, making me realise how low my energy reserves must be, despite the heat of the sun. Out of embankment tunnel I spy Big Ben – so close but so far…

Here I manage to miss my parents and and most friends, although see a few of them, as I internalise everything. Every cheer of ‘Come on Dan!’ is met with a ‘you bloody do it then!’ in my mind only of course.

Turning at Westminster. So tired. Someone shouts. 1km to go. Never, ever, ever, ever give up. I’ve run so many kilometers in this last 6 months, what’s one more? The photographers appear – what? Who placed them there! Force a smile. Just 600m to go. What, where was 800m? So glad to have missed it!

Then 400 to go. Then 385 yards. The turn on the Mall is blessed relief. I shout out ‘ohhhhhhhhhhhhh’ in a form of release to the pain and the joy the sight brings. For no reason I sprint to shave pointless seconds off my time and run with my arms aloft. Once over I put them down and acknowledge my legs’ calls for rest and stretching.

The end?

Utterly dazed and confused I take my medal, my bag, and find a place to lie down in St James’ Park. I’ve just run the London Marathon in 4.22.01. A few loo stops in there but who cares. In that heat I’m very pleased.

Today, Tuesday, and I feel strange. My legs are getting better and people are all very interested and quizzical but I just feel the same. I don’t feel like a hero or that I’ve done something life changing, or affirming, or anything. I don’t know. Perhaps I anticipated feeling like that when really not everyone will. Perhaps it’s too soon to know. I raised £1,901 for charity which is amazing and this makes me feel better than the idea of doing the run itself. Am I alone in having this almost post-marathon depression?

The big question is of course, will I enter next years? Maybe. It’s a commitment for sure, but it would be nice to go sub 4hrs…

Sprint finish

So here we are, just five days away from the London Marathon. It's been a hell of a journey.

I can vividly recall when I agreed to do it:

Int Shot: Two lazy people playing Pro Evo, a phone rings, I answer:

'Hello.'
'Hi Dan it's Will. Do you want to run the marathon next year? '(his voice intones 'this is just a token gesture, I don't expect you to say yes').
'Urm, yeah okay, why the hell not!'

A pause

'You do?'
'Yeah, do you have a place or something?'
'Er, yes, we can get places with the NSPCC.'
'Great, yep sign me up.'
'Oh...okay...'

Phone call ends.

Then four months later on a crisp September morning we set off on our first run. A full 800 meters around the block. We return exhausted, glistening with sweat, and having just been chastised by an old lady who said, 'come on keep going' as we laboured past her. (Where are you now O Mystic Wise Woman?)

Then it was, 'Did 20 minutes tonight and don't feel like I'm going to die. This is fun.' And on it went, 25 minutes, 35, 45, an hour! Then a 10k race at Finsbury Park (Time = 47mins 14 seconds), then another 10k back home in Cornwall - which became the basis for my first ever article on running - and was another 47 minutes, although on a very hilly course.

From here training intensified - 12 miles in 1hr 55 minutes felt like the end of the world, then I did a half-marathon in Watford - a lovely rolling, countryside course, and a sprint finish over the last 3 miles, passing hundreds of runners - a perfectly paced race and one of the best running moments to date.

Onwards! A 14 miler in the freezing rain, under-nourished, cursing every individual drop of rain that fell, but really knowing it was our own fault for not having prepared properly before going out - lesson learned, this is now a serious challenge and requires pre-run and post-run commitments. Fridge now forever stocked with sport drinks and cupboards bursting with Jelly Babies.

Then 16 miles, then a half-marathon at Silverstone. Race plan slightly off - too fast for 10 miles, although feel fine, then slow considerably over last three, to finish in a good time of 1.42, but think it would have been better if I had saved fuel for the end, rather than fading - another lesson learnt; the end if the hard part, not the start.

Then 18 miles - feel drunk on exhaustion come the end, but do realise we are running past the American Presidential house in Regent's Park and so next weeks 19.7 miler - a lot of hills on these runs too - sees us watching with interest as the police head hither and thither erecting anti-terrorist barriers and helicopters hover overhead. We carry on running, enjoying glimpses into London Zoo.

Then suddenly it's all over. Twenty miles is done and we've recovered. Now what? Now a party - to raise funds you see - and then that's it. A couple of eight milers ('nothing really', say the two runners who six months ago almost collapsed running 800m) and now we find ourselves simply counting down days, eating pasta dish after pasta dish, preparing for probably the hardest, but most anticipated challenge of a lifetime.

There's a lot I've left out too - the mid week evening runs over to Alexandra Palace with its stunning views of the city, the training day held by the NSPCC in January, the fantastic people I've met in the virtual world of Twitter who are also running the marathon, the strange sense that I'm actually rather enjoying all this running, the books I've read, the magazines, the times I've been on the JustGiving website the strange quirks of the body - give me Jelly Babies! - and the genuine buzz I've felt from raising over £1,500 for charityand the kindness of people in donating (especially in this credit crunch).

So - that's it. Sunday, 9.45am, 26.2 miles - what's left to say? Bring it on.