Tuesday, 9 September 2014

Signs O'The Times

Greetings, one and all. Summer’s been and all but gone and I’ve refrained from bothering you…

…well, most of you, anyway. I posted a bunch of garbage at some point but took it down sharpish. Needs a rethink. Whereas another two posts I’ve started but not yet finished. And neither was strictly running-related, you’ll be glad to hear: OK, one was, but at least it had nothing to do with any run of mine, rather the running community as a whole. The great running community as a whole.

Since you so kindly ask, it’s been a good summer, running-wise. Why, thank you! Just the one race, as I try not to race during the school holidays: leg 4 of the Cotswolds Way Relay Race, which I ran for Portishead R.C.. Yes, I’ve joined a second club I never run with – more about that another time. Since my last post I’ve run 761 miles, compared to the 919 over the same period in 2013. 158 fewer miles: I’m delighted! I ran 666 miles over July and August 2013, which was a lot of fun but ultimately of no constructive value. I’ve kept it down to 506 this year: far, far better. Least so I hope. The next four weeks, with the Bristol Half Marathon on September 21 and Chester Marathon on October 5, will determine the accuracy of that statement. Sub-90’ over 13.1 and sub-3:30’ over 26.2 were two of my goals for 2014, along with getting round The Highland Fling’s 53 miles in However Long It Took. These are my last two shots at both my HM and Mara targets, having fallen short in Bath (1:32’18”) and having fallen down in Manchester (after reaching the 20mi mark in an encouraging 2:25’55”). I feel good about sub-3:30’ Up North, less so about sub-90’ Down The Road. I’m not writing it off: I’m just conscious I need to up my pace on the short(ish) stuff and I’ve got less than a fortnight to do so. We’ll see how things go on the day. Nothing else matters.

In the meantime, I’ve bagged a sub-20’ 5k over the summer. It wasn’t a goal at the start of the year, but soon became one once I began parkrunning regularly… As well as my
19’52” PB run (at Chipping Sodbury), August featured a 20’00”, a 20’03” and a 20’04” (all at Little Stoke – where I still need to clock sub-20’!). Need to step up to make sub-20’ a frequent occurrence, not a one-off. It’s all well and good saying “it’s only a few seconds”, but in this game a few seconds are often our personal mountains between success and failure. Oh, and the last parkrun in July took me 53’. But that’s not too bad, what with all the collapsing due to an epileptic seizure, having the medics check me out and letting me out of the ambulance… decent sprint finish, an’all. I was only running for 20’18” of those fifty-three minutes – I spent the rest lying down!

This post, on the other hand, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with running. But the topic’s time-sensitive, so I can’t really delay writing about it for much longer. See, there’s this referendum taking place…

. . .

Yup: in just over a week’s time our friends north of Adrian’s Wall get to decide whether to break away from The Union or stay put. Seems only fair I express some thoughts on the matter, what with being a Yorkshireman who lives in the South West. So here are two “Signs Of The Times” – or, as the Scots would say, “Signs O’ The Times”.

1. SIGN O’THE TIMES #1: WHY WE NEED LOCAL
Growing up in the North-West of Italy, in 1992, aged 16, I became a card-carrying member of the Lega Nord (the Northern League). On many a weekend day when sensible teenagers were doing going to discos, cinemas or arcades, I would be selling promotional items and talking politics on the seafront, having been out late at party meetings earlier in the week. I once wined and dined with the leader, Umberto Bossi, and duly read all his books. The party has since been in Government and, consequently, picked up many of the bad habits that go with being part of the system you once fought. Plus many of its members took the core message and turned it into xenophobia, both at grass roots level and higher up. Not unsurprisingly, as the opposition to illegal immigration was a vote-winner and other messages misinterpreted. Indeed, some might say I alone naïvely misinterpreted the Lega Nord by taking a placid, democratic view of its values and focusing on its core concept of federalism, of fiscal autonomy on a regional basis. A small-scale devolution if you will, recognising the historical differences of a country that was only born in 1861. To put that into perspective, Sheffield F.C. has been going strong since 1857, whereas Italy has long been an amalgamation of regions with different backgrounds, depending on who’d been ruling them: the French, the Austrians (Up North), the Pope (in’t middle) or the Arabs and the Spanish (Darn Saath). All great regions, with historical differences that make for a great mix: but a mix nonetheless.
This will undoubtedly resonate with the people of Scotland, alongside those of Wales and Northern Ireland. But it will also resonate in Catalunya, in Wallonia and Flanders, in Euskadi (the Basque Country)… regions with a very strong regional identity. Regions with their own language, their own traditions and their own cultural hotpot. I myself have often made it clear that my allegiances go from S11 to Sheffield to South Yorkshire to Yorkshire to The North to England to the UK: our sense of belonging goes from our backyard to our community long before reaching national government. As borders fall and we become part of an international community with formal law-making powers and an informal, but even stronger, influence on our economy, an instinctive need to cling on to what is nearest and dearest to us takes hold. It’s perfectly natural. Can be dangerous if not managed, but there is nothing surprising or untoward about it. We are animals, after all.

2. SIGN O’THE TIMES #2: WHY WE NEED GLOBAL
There is more to globalisation, however, than a fart in New York influencing the value of pension funds in Llanfairpwllgwyngyll
…there is greater stability. Regardless of what makes the headlines on a daily basis, the overriding trend is one of greater peace and more predictable alliances. We know who our friends are, and who’s in serious danger of dropping off our Christmas card list. As a consequence, why increase the number of countries needing a defence budget? Not least at a time when the rules of warfare have changed dramatically – and it’s not the sort of vessels currently housed in Scottish waters (against Scottish wills, granted) that are going to come into the equation?
As an international community, we’re stronger together. Scots, Basques, Catalans, English, Welsh, French, Germans… for all the rivalries, not least when it comes to chasing branded spheres around grassy pitches, we know we can trust each other. We’re not going to invade each other’s borders. We don’t need to waste millions on defence programs when we can come together to fight off common enemies.
The same argument applies to many areas. Public health, for example: why increase the amount of administrative infrastructures? Education – ditto? And why expose two countries to currency fluctuations even more destabilising than the ones to which the pound is exposed today? Just doesn’t seem worth the hassle, frankly. Sure, let’s extend devolution: viva la dévolucion!

. . .



The two realities outlined above both feed and fend off each other. Feeling increasingly small within this global village, we long for tighter communities. Yet seeing the benefits of working together within this global village, we can see the benefits on offer and often grab them. Hearts and minds… emotions and economics… small streets and significant synergies…
…oh – and don’t go thinking that this trend has failed to touch areas where cries of independence are yet to be raised. Take France, for example: the majority of the Basque people live across the Pyrenees, and the rest of its citizens seem fairly happy with the state of the country’s borderlines. But don’t kid yourself that all is rosy in Marianne’s garden: it just means that the local/global dichotomy is revealing itself differently, namely in the Front National’s success. Only this week this neo-fascist party, that has done so well recently in repositioning itself towards the centreground (in the mind of the electorate, anyway), topped the opinion polls. Greece’s Golden Dawn also has a tendency of making the headlines for what I for one am happy to call the wrong reasons; and here in the UK, in areas where people are happy enough to fly the Union Jack rather than the Saltire or the Red Dragon, many are equally happy enough to vote UKIP: indeed, 27.5% of the voters did so in May’s European Elections. Just protest votes? Well, let me tell you: most parties whose results have been labelled as such in recent years have consolidated their success by claiming the fertile centre ground. Dismiss at your peril.

A
Scottish runner friend, a very vocal supporter of the ‘Yes’ (as in “Aye, we wannae beggar off”) campaign, asked me a very simple question on that there Twitter: “Name one country that is regretting independence”. My response was Ukraine, although that was just because of the fact that it’s been illegally occupied through the use of military force at the time. Which, of course, didn’t fit on my tweet.

And sure, recent years have seen many new countries emerge from the rubble of the fall of the Soviet Union and its satellite states. This has often followed bloody conflicts, some including the worst genocides known to man. And the new states have a sheer physical size that dwarfs that of Scotland: you could fit 7.66 Scotlands into one Ukraine if you were that way inclined, one for each of the Ukraine’s bordering countries with two thirds of a Scotland left over. That’s six more countries with which Scotland would ever border, unless there are plans afoot in Northumberland that I’m not aware of. And England wouldn’t bother invading Scotland again, right?

So absolutely, I understand why Scottish hearts want independence. And I have no qualms about their right to make that decision. Equally, however, I believe their minds should rule on this one. Both are reasons why, even after my Lega Nord membership has long lapsed, I remain a firm believer in federalism and devolved fiscal powers rather than the dissolution of existing sovereign states. I believe in local people making local rules, absolutely. But Government’s big enough as it is without increasing the size of the bureaucratic machine at the potential expense of services that directly benefit its citizens. Don’t tha think?

My overriding concern over next week’s referendum is the same as it was a few months back. Which, in itself, is a concern…
…I just don’t feel the details of how an independent Scotland would function on matters such as currency, health and defence have been thought through. If they have, nobody’s told us darn’ere. It’s not a matter of agreeing or disagreeing over a plan: it’s the apparent lack of any thorough plan that baffles me. I’m a long-distance runner: I like plans! Training plans, pacing plans… Granted, I often deviate from them, sometimes recklessly, but at least I have something to deviate from! Just seems to me as if I would have been expected to provide greater details when looking for twenty-thousand lire off my Dad aged 8 than the Yes campaign has put forward.

So – that’s my overriding concern. Actually… no, forget that…
…my over-riding concern is that Sassenachs still be allowed to run Ultras in Scotland!

There aren’t many better places for ultrarunning. If there are, again, nobody’s told me. I love the Peak District, as you’d expect. But even that was trumped by the Highlands at this year’s Fling. Hope to make two trips up to Milngavie And Beyond in 2015 – whatever our beloved friends decide next week!

And if you do go your own way… at least use it as an excuse to play a little Springsteen. I was there for this one – and still it sends shivers down my spine!
Emotions do that. They mess with your mind.

Right… that’s me done on history-defining moments… now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to worrying about what speedwork session to do tomorrow to advance my chances of sub-90’ in Bristol, about my nutrition plans on the day, about how to then manage the following fortnight ahead of Chester…
…between you and me, Bristol is far more daunting than Chester. No room for error: thirteen miles at 6’45” (leaving 7/mi to spare), it’s that straightforward. And only 13.1mi off which to shave the 139 seconds by which I was out in March. I royally messed up last year, not least with the fish and chips the night before! I set off at sub-90’ pace, but it didn’t last long…
…besides, Chester doubles up as a social gathering with The Twitter Gang – although the number of people I know at Bristol HM increases every year! Hope to see Tim this year: would be the first time since he moved out to Oz! More importantly, in Chester I’ll ‘only’ need to shave 64 seconds over 26.2 compared to last year’s PB effort. I know the course now, too: I know they’ll be lying when they shout “last hill!” from the sides! Well-intended lying, but that hardly makes it helpful! At least  I know perfectly well where the climbs are in Bristol.

Anyroad. I’ll let you know how I get on. Oh yes I will.

So yes, Sandra… ahem… don’t hold this one against me! See you in Milngavie!

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Meeting Up With Old Loves



Unusual week, this one. It’s rekindled old flames, in one way or another – allowed me to embrace loves from times gone by without betraying my current passion…

…last Friday, I found myself back at Portishead Cricket Club; on Tuesday, I ran a 10k race traveling to and from Clevedon with former tennis friends and foes; and, in two days’ time, I’ll be donning those gloves again and playing football.

I grew up playing proper sports, amongst which cricket, tennis and football took the lion’s share of my time, albeit not of my ability. Sports where you keep the score, win or lose against adversaries – none of this “oh I’m just running against myself” malarkey! I was a better skier and possibly volleyball player than I ever was a cricketer or a footballer (until I saw the light and donned the gloves, that is!), but scope for skiing on the Med coast is limited – and Dad never did pass on his water-skiing skills!

Because of the extent to which I’ve embraced running, and even more so because of some the reasons that led me down this path (i.e. the inability to commit to specific times with a young family and to get to a club, a court or a pitch without a lift), I’ve not gone close to any of those sports for years. I didn’t play a single game (let alone set) of tennis in 2013, which I don’t think had happened since 1984. Nor did I play any football, my last two games being during holidays in Italy around two and three years ago respectively. And cricket… well, some would argue I never really played cricket in the first place, and I don’t think I’d padded up since before Roberto was born anyway. He turned seven last month…

Portishead Lawn Tennis Club (‘PLTC’) Mens Singles Champion 2008, I left the club a couple of years later and have only played a few matches since. I’d already cut down on my cricket appearances a couple of years before Roberto’s arrival, focusing on tennis (which I was playing four times a week) to give myself a better chance of winning the tennis club championships; and I’ve not played regular football since 1992, when I reached the dizzy heights of the “Promozione” league with Carlo Grasso in Italy. Bench, mind, and only because of an injury crisis: but let’s not dwell on the details.

I have always acknowledged a huge debt of gratitude to sport in general and to these three sports in particular. Team sports teach you how to win and lose as a group, the value of commitment to your team-mates and respect for opponents, coaches and officials: fantastic life lessons. As for tennis, I always preferred the individual version of the game, which to me is “boxing with a net between opponents”: but equally I came to enjoy doubles and leagues, which turn it into a team sport. And team sports helped me turn the name of a pop group into home – least as much as any place other than Sheffield will ever be…

When I moved to Portishead in 1999, I only knew my housemate, a colleague with whom I’d looked for a place to rent before buying it seven months later. Most of the early acquaintances I made came through cricket: at a time when I could drive and was unattached, many a Saturday and Sunday were spent hopelessly trying to get bat on ball (although I did manage a 57 and a 49*), being occasionally given the chance to bowl (best figures: 4-19 as a medium pacer, 2-2 giving it some flight and turn) and reliving every ball over a few beers in the bar. Since team-mates covered all ages and abilities, Portishead C.C. was a great place to break the ice with the town and make friends, as well as to realise the dream of playing proper cricket after all those childhood innings in the backyards of S11 were followed by Italian summers once Sheffield became home. I’d never felt settled enough to go to a club and say: “I’ve never really played but I’ve got decent eye-to-ball coordination – can I join you?”. Till I was 24, that is. Safe to say, my eye-to-ball coordination paid higher dividends on the tennis courts across the water at Portishead Lake Grounds, a spot which has featured on many a Strava map, either because I’ve taken in some channel views on a long run or because that’s where I head for my speedwork sessions

…and a spot which I revisited in civvies last Friday, to watch Roberto’s cricket training. I use the term loosely: he was the one lying on the grass whilst the others listened attentively… I went to thank the coach, with whom I shared a few drinks a few years ago, after the session, and he used the expression “day-dreaming”. As have Roberto’s football coaches, his rugby coach… there is a theme. I’m told not to worry. So I don’t. I just despair. Still, it was nice to see a few known faces (if not as many as I thought) and to enjoy a burger after the session (Karen, Roberto and Daniel all went for one burger AND one hotdog – not runners, see…). Brought back some happy memories.

Four days later, I ran the Clevedon 10k. Mark, whom I knew from the tennis club, invited me when we were talking about the Bristol 10k: he assumed I’d be running it, whereas I genuinely don’t enter that many races, was spending that Sunday with the family and wouldn’t have been in any hurry to pay £25 to run six miles anyway – even with the “point two”. I’d pay £7, as I did for Tuesday – setting a PB of 41’35”, by the way (yes, ten seconds less than Strava reckons!). But I digress…
…it was nice to get a lift from Mark, alongside Chris and Mike. I don’t know Mike. Whereas Chris…

…Chris was a major adversary at PLTC. A nice chap, but an adversary nonetheless. I reached my first Singles Final in 2007, and the beggar beat me 2-1 after I’d come back from the first set to win the second 6-0. I can’t recall the scores from the two sets he won, honest. But it was a scorching hot day: the club’s “Finals Day” is middle Sunday in Wimbledon terms, so it would have been July 1. I went on to win the Men’s Doubles and then onto lose the Mixed Doubles on a tie-break on that same afternoon. Maybe I paid for that half-hour knock beforehand…
Chris was by no means the best player in technical terms. His serve had nothing to it, his backhand little more than that… but he made very few mistakes and it was a real challenge to get the ball past him. Chris ran, you see: on and off the tennis court. He could run you into the ground: and he wouldn’t engage in any psychological battles with you (oh I do miss those!), he’d just focus on himself and on getting the ball back time and again. More often than not, it would wear you down.
So when on Tuesday night he said he would see how things went and maybe aim for 42’, I thought I’d try and keep up with him, as that was my same goal, and nurtured hopes of overtaking him, of getting my own back for 2007. After all, by his own admission he’d “not run for a few weeks”, other than on the tennis court. My plan worked alright for a couple of miles, then I let him go. 39’33”, the beggar did it in: 68th overall, 7th vet. I’m still chuffed with my 41’35”, but I do harbour hopes of beating him one day… even if at tiddlywinks! Something to bear in mind during my speedwork sessions, as for four weeks on the trot we saw each other as I ran past his house while he was putting out the rubbish. Wonder whether he stalks me from inside his four walls and comes out to out-psyche me… to remind me he’s always around…

So I’ve watched Big’Un ‘play’ cricket and I’ve shared a race with members of my former tennis club… now, what about the football?

. . .

Believe it or not, in under two days’ time I’ll be donning those gloves again. Josh, who set up and managed a church team some years back, is getting the team back together for a charity match to support his John O’Groats – Land’s End fundraising bike ride. I got the call (well, the Facebook message): and, in spite of it clashing with parkrun, I accepted!

There are a couple of reasons why I ended up in goal. A disappointing level of ability with my feet is a key one, as is the fact that I’m actually quite good in goal. But there’s no denying the contributory impact of my seemingly innate inability to run… back in the day, anyway!
Ever since getting the hang of running, I’ve wondered how it might impact my contribution as an outfield player. It wouldn’t do any harm, that’s for sure. But I won’t find out anytime soon: I only get calls to play by folk who know I can lend a hand in goal… the rest are still too scarred and scared to let me loose!

I appreciated Josh’s call and am delighted to get the chance to grab the old Carlo Grasso bag out of the garage. I’ve checked: all the bits are still in there! I’m sacrificing a parkrun, which would have been at the closer, more scenic but not as flat (!) Ashton Court course, as there’s a footie tournament on at Little Stoke parkrun and we’re leaving it to them. I do suspect I’ll be more aware about chucking myself about: however, I’m equally confident that, when that ball calls, my hands (and the rest of me) will duly follow!
One of the good things about being a ’keeper is that you don’t have to do any running before the match starts. Stretching, take a few shots, ideally some crosses… but that’s all fun. Although this particular ’keeper now “needs” to get a 5k in before 8:15 in order to be at the end of his estate just before 9am..!

Do I miss those sports? Do I wish I could still play at least one proper sport, alongside running?

I do miss them, yes: tennis more than the others, because I like being responsible for my own successes and my own failures and because I was actually decent at it. I miss the satisfaction of a well-executed volley, of that fleeting glare across the net if not of the realisation that I’ve gone and broken another racket by throwing it away in anger. I miss the camaraderie of team sports, although I am fortunate in having somehow recreated that with running. Be it with lifts to/fro parkrun or by running Ultras with friends (as running has helped them become), not to mention social media, I have developed a social side to running which I love, without the ties and regularity of, say, club runs. I’ve got the best of both worlds. And I never have to question the accuracy of a line call, an umpire’s call or a refereeing decision: just of my Garmin. A sport where the only true opponents are you and Father Time may not be a proper one: but there are plus points to that. Aplenty.


(n.b.: when I won in 2008, my opponent on the day, Pete Lench, had kindly knocked out Chris in the semis. I beat Pete 6-3, 6-1: like me, he preferred to come to the net and wasn’t immune from the occasional mistake. And on that day he made more than usual. Not least because I was on top form.
Oh, and I only truly broke two rackets. Scratches don’t count. And my first ever racket, from 1984, is still in pristine state… Anyone for tennis?)