Right then – where
were we?
If you’ve ended up on
here from I Can’t Stand Running, thanks for hopping
over. If you’ve stumbled on here from elsewhere on the ether… welcome!
With
that in mind, it’s time to move on. “I Can’t Stand Running” has run its course.
I have told my story, one whose outset did nothing to suggest it would have
taken the shape it did. Time to stop writing about how I can’t stand running:
time, maybe, to collate (i.e. copy/paste) my wafflings from the last 440 days
into an old-style diary (OK, .pdf file) for future contemplation, once a few
more dozen soles have been worn out. But I can only describe my Nore Road
ascents so many times… even today’s run, with its 1,223 feet of ascent over 14 miles (87.35 ft/mi –
my Jan-Jun average was 41.50), is of dubious interest, much as I was happy to
have finally drawn up a fresh, challenging route… and talking you through my preparations
for Chester would be a mundane and boring exercise for us both, the novelty and
mystery of Manchester unrepeatable… sorry, the time has come to call Last Orders
on this blog. It’s been one helluva ride and I am humbled and grateful to
anyone who took the time to read even just one solitary post of mine. I’ll
finish this one and then leave.
So, cards on the
table…
…a few days after
writing that, I did embark on a new running journey. One I’d not foreseen when
drawing “I Can’t Stand Running” to a close: one I’d contemplated but parked in
the “maybe next year” folder. Then… something changed.
With that in mind, I
should warn you that, as of July 11, I am fully signed up to take part in this
year’s HighPeak40 Challenge. As per
usual where running events are concerned, there’s a clue as to the event’s
nature in its name…
…it’s a 40-mile Ultra
taking place in the Peak District on September 21. So
not a half marathon or even a marathon, rather… well, a marathon and a half.
With that in mind,
there may be a few more running entries on here than initially planned. That
said, totally in the spirit that it’s ultimately not just about the running…
…because I am not
treating this as an individual challenge. In fact, I would not have entered
this as an individual challenge – anyone who’s ‘enjoyed’, at some point or another,
my inner-city map-reading skills will be delighted to hear I’m not going to be
depending on those to get me across forty miles of Derbyshire countryside.
Sure, the training will be an individual challenge and it will upon my legs
that I’ll rely to get me over that finishing line. But I’m only doing this
because some dear friends of mine are and because I want to share that
experience with them. It’s not about a time, it’s not about a PB… it’s pretty
much not about the running, much as I do look forward to being able to say “I
ran a 40-mile fell ultra”, not just on the evening of September 21 but for the
rest of my days! But what it’s truly about is sharing that experience, with all
its highs and lows – be those in altitude or fortitude.
Oh, and September 21
is a motivating date for me…
…not because of any
recurrence, simply because it falls within a year of my first race, last year’s TenTenTen. I ran that on
September 23, 2012, having started running on April 18. By the time I ran the TenTenTen I’d signed up for
the Bristol Half Marathon, which I completed the
following week.
Yet even then did I not expect that my 2013 running calendar would include the Bath Half (March 3), the Sheffield Half (May 12) and, neatly
sandwiched in between, the Greater Manchester Marathon (April 28). As for
what I’m training for now…
…who knows?!
People ask me this
and I honestly can’t give them a straightforward answer. I have no races this
month or the next: my next race is not till September 15, when I’ll be
returning to the Bristol Half. Six days later I’ll
be running this here Ultra; on September 29 I’ll be heading to the beach in
Weston-super-Mare for the Grand Pier Half
Marathon;
the following Sunday, October 6, I’ll be running the Chester Marathon; then, after a week
off, I’ll be signing off this sequence of five races in six weekends with the Portishead Half
Marathon.
So I guess I’m training…
…well, I’m training
to be able to complete three Half Marathons, a Marathon and a 40-mile Ultra
within thirty-six days. Or, to be more dramatic, to complete an Ultra and a
Marathon within sixteen days, with a Half Marathon in between. I respectfully treat
the 13.1mi distance as one I can manage in most circumstances – although I did
get carried away a little this month, what with running seventeen of them in
training..! I just may not be shooting for PBs in all three this autumn, much
as it’s hard to resist the adrenaline on the day! But the real focus is that
nine-day window separating the Peak District on September 21 and the streets of
Chester on October 6.
So yes, training’s
been going well, thanks. Here are my stats for July:
Count:
38 Activities
Distance:
323.73 mi (10.44mi/day)
Time:
49h00’24”
Elevation
Gain: 16,797 ft (51.9ft/mi)
Avg
Speed: 6.6
mph
2013
Cumulative (Jan-Jun > 1st Half):
Count:
241 Activities
Distance:
1,674.24 mi (7.90mi/day)
Time:
239h01’34”
Elevation
Gain: 72,840 ft (43.50/mi)
Avg
Speed: 7.0
mph
I know, I said I
wouldn’t bore you with such stats on here… but then I signed up for an ultra
and suddenly they seemed relevant again. Anyway, the next post should be more
interesting. I’ve yet to start putting fingers to keyboard, but it’s something
that’s been swirling in my mind (and in my heart) for some time. All I need to
do now is… er, do it justice. Until then… take care!
…in fact, just one
tale before I leave you in peace!
Of last month’s 38
runs, one does stand out: Nice, France, July 19.
Nice is a city that
means a lot to me, one that I love – one where I lived between January and June
1997. Not that it feels like sixteen years ago… wowzer!
I flew out there on Thursday
18 to do a reccie for a conference I’ll be running (!) there next February. I’d
managed a 1.1mi streaksaver at 4:30am before flying out and, after a long day
of looking at hotels and dining venues, I was happy to just walk around streets
I’d trodden all those years ago, taking in sights such as “Wayne’s”, the house
where I’d spent my final new weeks, the “Acropolis”, the IPAG where I’d studied…
a lot of good memories.
Whilst passing the
port, I asked the car park attendant whether it was possible to follow the coast
road to Villefranche-sur-Mer. I’d looked up the option on MultiMap and it
seemingly made for a lovely, scenic Half Marathon. The attendant told me it was
but, with that typical Mediterranean eye-raising look, added Villefranche was “at
least 20km” (well, “au moins 20km”) from there. ‘There’ being a couple of miles
already away from the hotel where I was staying, the Gounod. Given I had a 10:50 flight to
catch, this prompted a rethink…
…not a long one,
mind! There was only one thing for it: I’d have to get up at 3:00, be out of
the hotel door by 3:30, ensure I got back by 7:30, out of the hotel by 8:45, on
the 9:10 bus and at Nice Airport by 10:00! Ish.
I do that, see: when
I’m away, I plan my check-out mornings to ensure I’m not left stranded. And to
give my sweaty running gear some time to dry…
…anyway, with that in
mind I headed back to the hotel. Had an ice-cream on the way – ‘pistacchio’ was
one of the flavours, it’s good for runners is that. By then confused as to the
distances, I decided I’d run out for ten miles and then turn round. Simple
enough…
…only, when it came
to it the following morning, it turned out you couldn’t just follow the coast
road!
I ran along the
Promenade des Anglais, passing the revellers heading home or to the beach.
There was seemingly nothing unusual about a fella wearing a glo-yellow top
running along the Promenade des Anglais (in Union Jack running shoes) at
3:30am. Suited me, as I headed for the port and set out to follow the road
round…
…only it soon became
apparent I’d have to run up the Moyenne Corniche, one of two roads that connect
Nice to Italy through the Alpes Maritimes. So there I was, at four in the
morning, running up the Alps in July. And still some folk say I’m weird!
 |
| La Cote d'Azûr in the early hours. Bit dark, granted. |
This did make me
comfortable about route and timings, mind. By sticking to the main road, there
was no way even I could get lost. And, by running continuously uphill for the
first half, I’d have no problems in coming back in a comparable time. As it
happens I carried on slightly beyond the 10mi mark, reaching the village of Eze
where I’d once visited a perfume factory alongside fellow Sheffield Hallam
University students with our French tutor. I still have that eau de toilette… I
only use it for special occasions, see, and I’ve only had it for sixteen years…
…anyway, I eventually
did a U-turn and headed back down the alpine coastline. Tempting as it was to
follow the signs for Genoa, a) they pointed to a motorway, b) I had a plane to
catch and, last but not least, c) my parents were in Sheffield and I didn’t
have a key. The sun was slowly but surely claiming its centre-stage role,
subtly bringing to life the beautiful Cote d’Azûr. So much so that I thought I’d
try to get down to the coastline after all – maybe there really was a coast
road…
…I checked with the
locals I passed, they all encouragingly backed my theory…
…I made my way
through narrow streets to reach the Villefranche coast from the imposing
Moyenne Corniche… kept on running alongside it…
 | |
| A sign for Gênes. (Or Genova.) (Or Genoa.) (Indeed, Zena.) (Look, signs for the A8.) |
…look, to cut it
short (which, at the time it felt not), there is no blinking way round to Nice
from Villefranche at sea-level. I am sure of that now, for Lord knows I sought
it. I even tried my luck through some overgrowth and abandoned/in progress
(hard to tell) building sites of the type that are so easily associated with
seaside developments, not least in France and Spain. Suffice to say that, with
one eye firmly on the time (a time by which I’d already written off breakfast),
I found myself staring at a tall, locked gate. I could go back, through the desolate
overgrowth I’d just conquered, or I could go… over. I could climb over a locked
steel gate for the first time in my life: I could do something that usually
other folk do. I briefly thought of all the greats, such as Scott Jurek, Mike
Wells and Bruce Springsteen, and leapt up and (eventually) over before recommencing
my route up to the Moyenne Corniche… and, finally, round the corner to Nice.
The sight of the Promenade
des Anglais was a welcome and welcoming one: all of a sudden it wasn’t just
about the last few miles, it was about getting back in time not only to catch
my flight but, indeed, for a snap! I headed down and along it, inviting a few
more bemused looks than had been the case at 3:30am as I passed the workers and
students that were heading out as the city lightened up and embraced its daily
rhythm. I got back to the hotel around 7:40 (I’d stopped to take a few photos
on my 3h31’ 23-miler), having stopped at a nearby Carrefour for two cans of ice
tea and a bottle of PowerAid, the impact of the bottle I’d bought in a small shop
in Eze that was just opening up at 5:30 as I turned round somewhat in need of a
boost. Showered, packed, ate… and, around 9am, walked out to catch a bus to the
airport. As I stood opposite the Promenade, seeing all these runners taking to
the road in the Mediterranean summer sun, I couldn’t help but think: “Why would
you ever want to run at this crazy hour?”
There you have it, my
friends. Sure, it was a pleasure to run for three and a half hours up and down
the Alps (yes, technically they’re Alps!). But trust me: when you’re climbing
over steel fences at seven in the morning, when you’re taking in the sights of the
Mediterranean coastline as if someone, somewhere were slowly turning on a
dimmer switch… it’s really not just about the running.
p.s.: a bit of
googling suggests it is indeed possible to follow a “Baisse Corniche” along the
water’s edge. Maybe I’ll look again next time, in February. Or maybe not. You
guess. Either way, I won’t be asking the guy at the port. Besides, asking people who hang around ports anything is usually a recipe for disaster.
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