Memories, A Pen, My Grandfather, And Finally A Reference To Running

I spend a lot of time in coffee shops, always have. They help me think and I often find myself writing things in my notebook. I am here now watching the nib of my fountain pen as it moves across the page. I like using a fountain pen - I don't know why. Perhaps I like the way they feel in the hand or the design of the nib, maybe it's the way the ink flows. I don't know. I suspect the reason has more to do with subconscious associations: images of important people signing important documents, black and white films, the desks of famous writers, or my own memories.

Looking at my pen, I open the door to memories of myself as a young boy, probably about five or six in my grandfather's house. He lived across the way from us and I used to pop-in and the two of us would talk. Perhaps it would be about bird watching and he would show me something then hand me his binoculars. Sometimes we would go to a room he had which was full of wonders: like bits and pieces from radios, a flying suit on a hanger on the back of the door and an old roll-top desk. I loved that desk and the way the lid would disappear. It was magic - furniture that actually did something interesting.

In that desk was a Swan pen. The fact that I know it was a Swan means he must have told me and he was proud of it. Being a boy, who liked to fiddle with things, I liked the little lever recessed into the side with the tiny scoop so you could flick it up with your fingernail but I can also remember looking at it and marbled pattern of the barrel, fascinated by the interlocking shapes and varying colours. That pattern made a deep impression on me because I can remember an art lesson in my junior school where we were told to paint a pattern. I drew a few bold geometric shapes and painted them different colours. The teacher liked it and held it up for the class and then asked why I done it that way. I said it was because I couldn't do it the other way. "What was the other way?" he asked but I couldn't describe it. All I knew was that in my mind I saw a richly variegated, random pattern, a bit like my grandfather's pen. I knew it was beyond my abilities and so I just made things simple.

Sometimes we would be in my grandfather's garden. It was used to grow fruit and vegetables. I can remember him reaching down, giving me something and saying "Here try one of these goosegogs". I didn't much like it and I have never really cared for gooseberries but I love the word 'goosegogs' and in my head I can still hear his voice saying it. Our memories are full of these odd little things.

I always thought he looked like Mr Pickwick (we had some Dickens illustrations on our wall so I even though I was young I knew what Mr Pickwick looked like). He was round in shape with a comfortable belly, wore small round glasses, was bald on the top of his head with grey hair growing at the side and back and had a ready chuckle. He was vigorous right up until his end and everybody called him 'Pop', not only the family, everybody. He was part of the community and at the end of the garden was a scout hut he had helped build.

Also (and here is the running link) he had been a member of the three As. I don't know in what capacity - as far as I know he was not a runner. I only have a memory of my father mentioning it, but there were no further details and there is no one left alive who I could ask. I am thus free to imagine it as one of his interests like the scouts or being a radio ham. I am also free to imagine that my taking-up running is a belated connection.

Just like that marbled pattern of my imagination, being good at athletics, being a competitive runner, running with grace and elasticity is beyond me. Instead I have to simplify things down, plod along at my own steady pace and be content. But you know what - there is virtue in simplicity.

Christmas Stuff

It is Christmas Eve and I prefer it to Christmas Day itself.

I like fettling around with last minute tasks and the feeling of getting things ready. As long as you don't leave too much to do it is good to know things will come together and everything will be ready. Wrapping presents is almost better than opening them and we decorate the Christmas tree (our tradition is to wait until Christmas Eve before putting up the tree), to the sound of carols and the air heavy with the smell of mince pies being baked

It is a good day but there is not much time for running – it is a matter of priorities. At the moment I am on a fairly relaxed schedule of running every other day. Today is a running day and if truth be told a longer run run is overdue but there is no chance of that. Instead there is time for 3 miles or so at a pace that gets me puffed. I like these runs. At the end I put my hands on my knees, take a few deep breath then slowly straighten up before sauntering back home feeling relaxed. As I have only run a short distance the legs are not tired and it is eventually refreshing. The day can thus be faced and all jobs can be done. In the end there will be a pile of presents under the tree and I will wonder at the number of parcels and just how much stuff there is.

The picture at the top of this post comes from the British Museum and it is appropriate because if ever there was a place jammed full of stuff, it is the British Museum. I marvel at the ability of people to represent the world and make beautiful objects. As humans we all have a drive to make things and decorate, an inherent sense of form, but some people are exceptionally talented and the Museum is full of examples the best of work. It help us look at afresh at all the things that surround us in our own lives and all the things we are giving and receiving..

Anyway I hope everybody who reads this has a good Christmas, with good company, good running and, of course, lots of good stuff.

A few Trends

As if there are not enough distractions on the Internet!

Google have now produced a tracker tool which allows you to monitor the trend in queries over the past few years. There are no absolute numbers but the graph shows the relative volume of the query, over time. Underneath is a graph of related news stories. It is also possible to compare a number of searches e.g. see the relative interest in Saucony and New Balance

A search for "marathon" looked like this:

This shows a big peak around the time of London and Boston and a smaller hump for New York. If you look at the results for the UK

you can see that New York just does not register -we all know that for non-runners in this country there is only one marathon. The big peak is for the 2005 race when Paula Radcliffe made her very public pit stop – so you can see what really grabs the public imagination about our sport.

A search of "marathon training" shows how the curiousity is translated into a more practical interest. The graph for UK search shows an interesting pattern. The people committed to a spring marathon are preparing in November/December, as you would expect, but most people look at the time of the London Marathon. So it obviously does a good job of piquing interest – people want to know what's involved.

None of this is surprising, but like all statistics, confirmation of assumptions is always useful.

This tool was developed to monitor trends in diseases, to see how much internet queries mirrored infection rates. It is a surprisingly good proxy for mapping their spread. So I thought I would compare the rates for a very typical running injury – shin splints

The season is more pronounced in the World results than those for the UK but it is interesting how steady the pattern is for both. Every year we all bounce up full of enthusiasm, over-train and get injured. At the end of the year, with less training, the injury clears. Shin splints tend to be more frequent in new runners so these graphs probably show a steady influx of people starting to run. The graph would also suggest that there have been no great developments in shoe technology, which have reduced the incidence of injury.

Again nothing startling but you can fool yourself into thinking you are discovering things

My E Number

A couple of weeks ago there was a wonderful TV programme on Einstein and Eddington.

Einstein is one of the most famous men of the Twentieth Century, and his image is an icon, but of Eddington I knew nothing. I had no idea that it was his observations, confirming the deflection of light, which caused worldwide headlines about the proof of relativity and made Einstein a celebrity. More to the point I knew nothing about the strength of character that allowed him to pursue a scientific truth in the face of wartime hostility to anything German. He was certainly a great man whose life should be celebrated.

There is though very little scope for astrophysics in a running blog (even if I knew anything about the subject). However Arthur Eddington was also a keen cyclist and kept detailed records of all of his rides and developed the concept of the ‘Eddington Number’. This is the definition from Wikipedia:

The Eddington Number in this context is defined as E, the number of days a cyclist has cycled more than E miles. For example an Eddington Number of 70 would imply that a cyclist has cycled more than 70 miles in a day on 70 occasions. Achieving a high Eddington number is difficult since moving from, say, 70 to 75 will probably require more than five new long distance rides since any rides between 70 and 74 miles will no longer be included in the reckoning.

The construct of the Eddington Number for cycling is identical to the h-index that quantifies both the actual scientific productivity and the apparent scientific impact of a scientist.

This can be applied to running. (As I can’t be bothered to get out my old diaries I will only look at the annual number). This year I have run more than 6.5 miles 24 times but my E number is 10.

For someone who prepared for a marathon during the year this is not high enough. I thus have a new challenge: raise my annual E number. I must run longer more often.

Everwhere There Are Lessons

The last post might have been about a bike but the theme was enthusiasm and how the love of an activity (and it could be any activity) makes people more alive. We respond to the bright eyed look of someone talking about their passions, even if the subject is remote from your own interests.

Horses are a case in point. For me they are an alien world but my sister, who is a physiotherapist, has developed an interest in their use for therapy and has recently bought her own horse. We visited the stable and watched her groom and ride her horse and could see the enjoyment. She also introduced us to two of her friends, her riding teacher and another physiotherapist who has her own stable, both of whom were brim full of an energetic enthusiasm. They loved everything to do with horses.

We even went to a horse show (called the Mane Event - I even managed to overcome my distrust of punning titles!) which was a trade show with display arenas. It was another glimpse into this new world. It was a bit like a running expo with different smells. One clear overlap was the focus on injury - there were a number of stall offering ointments and therapies. You can start up a conversation with any runner by asking how their injury is going, perhaps you can do the same for riders.

The other thing that struck me was the number of people selling dvds of training programmes and their approach to horsemanship. We saw a display by Jonathan Field that opened my eyes to what could be achieved. I didn’t know horses could be that obedient, for example he would point to a spot and get the horse to stop there, walk away and then call the horse to follow - it was almost like dog training.

He took his horse through a number of challenges such as weaving in and out of cones or playing with a Swiss ball. The idea was to keep the horse interested at all times. His approach came from a moment of insight when he had been trying to train a particular horse but was making no progress. The more he tried the worse things became. He then realised the horse was bored and he needed to think more from the horse’s perspective and engage it so it became as interested in him as he was in it.

To do this he rethought his routines so that he made sessions a series of challenges rather than an endless repetition of exercises. He also made sure that each sessions had a clear objective and once it was done it was over. It seemed as if the key quality was clarity. The horse had to know precisely what was expected and be prepared i.e. nothing was suddenly demanded. Importantly there was also the concept of rest, of taking a break so that things remained fresh.

As he talked I had a moment of insight and thought that the principles of clarity, challenges and rest could be profitable applied to my own training sessions. Training a horse might be thought of as similar to training your own body. Although there should be a closer relationship between your own brain and body than there is between a horse and a human, there is still a gap between part of the brain that holds the hopes and dreams and part of the brain and the body that has to execute the plan. One can think you are being sensible and realistic with your own training programme but the body might still rebel by breaking-down or sticking on a plateau of weariness, and be as intractable as any horse.

As I watched the horseman ride in such a fluid, easy manner I compared it to some of my forced and laboured runs. Could it be that he actually pays more attention to the needs of his horse than I do to the needs of my body?

Perhaps I need to rethink.

Brompton Talk

This is the latest piece of public sculpture in Hemel beside it is my 8 year old Brompton. Of the two I know which gives me the most aesthetic pleasure.

One is brilliantly conceived with the form following its function. Every part is designed for purpose, with nothing redundant and no superfluous decoration to distract attention from the principles of the design. The other claims to be a point of reflection but is curiously random in its representation.

Bromptons please me in all sorts of ways so I was really pleased to meet their chief designer this weekend.

He was in his fifties, medium height, trim, white haired with bright blue eyes that were full of life. He talked with great enthusiasm about design and the ideas he was developing to improve the bike. Many of these are little things like a clip to attach the rear triangle to the bike so that it does not fold under when you lift it (his idea is to incorporate it into the rubber suspension bung, which can be be twisted to lock the back of the bike). Others are larger like a new hub-gear with a wider ratio. The underlying principle is to take the classic Andrew Ritchie design and gradually evolve it - incremental improvement that always looks at the weak points, like the cheap saddle, to see what can be done (apparently there will soon be a new Brompton saddle designed so it can be used to lift the bike). I can think of very few other products, designed in the mid 70s, that have remained essentially the same except for gradually getting better.

The conversation moved to the enthusiasm of owners and how most people use their bikes very frequently so that large mileages are built up. (I have done about 25,000 miles on mine just by making regular short journeys). Some people take them to extrodainary places, Simon Calder for example is famous for taking his all over the world. Talking about writers he said Will Self had visited the factory and written a lovely article. (It is true; it is well worth the click through).

The World Chamionship was a great success (as can be seen from WarriorWoman's rather wonderful account). Apparently it was tagged onto the Blenheim Palace Bike Event almost as an afterthought but generated so much interest it became the main event. There are however diplomatic problems. The race was invented by the Spanish distributor and they do not wish to usurp his role so it is possible there will be two events in the future: a World Championship and a European Championship. Honour will be preserved.

There is nothing better than talking to someone who really loves what they do, enthusiasm of any kind is infectious but it is even better if the infection is already shared. In that way it felt just like a running conversation.

Fishing

Before I started running I never gave any thought to fishing.

Buried in my memory are a few days when I was 10 and my father took me fishing at the gravel pits. He was no great fisherman, having only just been introduced to the sport by some friends, and I was no natural so we never did catch much apart from tiddlers. As a hobby it was short lived but I enjoyed the outings, being in the open, searching for good spots (which had more to do with hiding in the rushes rather finding somewhere the fish would visit), and just generally messing about. The memories have little to do with fishing. They are about my father, relaxing, trying new things, involving his son. All the things I could only begin to appreciate when I was older and had children of my own.

But running often makes me think of fishing. When running by the canal I pass so many fishermen (and I think they are almost always men) I often wonder about their hobby. What is the attraction, especially when it is raining and they sit motionless in their waterproofs? It takes dedication to be out for so long in bad weather so there must be a deep level of satisfaction – but I don’t know what it is.

There are some (limited) similarities with my sport. Firstly there is the pleasure of being outside, the simple but profound feeling of being closer to nature and enjoying the direct sensations of the wind, sun or rain. There is also the pleasure of paying attention to your surroundings, watching and listening. Finally there is the refreshment of non-work, of escaping the to-do list. That much I can relate to but I understand little else. But maybe I am missing the point because canal fishing is a particularly sluggish form of the sport.

When running alongside the Vedder I saw something that made me realise that fishing could be physically active and challenging. A man had hooked a large strong fish and was attempting to reel it in. He was running along the bank, pulling it in little by little, whilst his fishing rod was bending mightily. The struggle lasted for some time before the fish was landed. When it was over the man showed the fish to his companion and threw it back. I began to understand some of the satisfaction he must have felt. He was at least physically engaged.

For me all sports must have a strong element of physical engagement. Above everything else that is their point.

Children Running By The lake

There is something magical about the stillness of lakes.

Our visit to Cultis Lake was off-season and it was deserted. The shops in the plaza were shut, there was nobody on the beach, and no boats on the water and of course no one jumping off the jetties into the water. All was eerily calm but it was not empty.

Around the Lake are a large number of houses and cabins. Some of them are used just at weekends and for holidays but there are a fairly large number of permanent residents. As we walked along the path there was the sound of hammering and drilling as a few people were working on their buildings as if preparing for the winter.

As we were walking we met a group of junior school children running the lakeside path. At the front were the fast kids accompanied by an adult who was obviously a practised runner. There was quite a gap and then the larger gaggle of kids in the middle, also accompanied by an adult and then after a long time came the stragglers, also accompanied. I thought it was quite wonderful to see this way of encouraging exercise. The kids were allowed to go at a pace they could manage but there was someone at hand to encourage and help them.

I like the idea of teaching running at an early age with someone running alongside to encourage and support. I don’t know if it is common in today’s schools but it is unlike anything I remember. We had no instruction on improving running efficiency or finding a rhythm to run for longer, or run for enjoyment. It was assumed we all had the basic skill and you would no more teach running than you would walking.

Now I don’t think we make those assumptions. We are worried about the lack of exercise in the population as a whole and are making more effort to develop good habits. Encouraging all kids to run could be very important.

An Ideal Running Path

This path by the Vedder River is near my sister's house. It is flat, smooth, well maintained, and perfect for running especially as there are marker posts every kilometer. A small thing perhaps but it makes the path even more useful for training.

Another good thing is that dogs must be kept on a leash. There is however a nearby field with a designated pound where the dogs can run free. In effect this is an informal club as the owners chat with each other whilst the dogs also socialise and run around in groups. It is odd but whenever I see dogs on leashes pass each other they bark and jump and have to be restrained by their owners. Here, without the need to show off, they seem to get along fine.

Recreation facilities do not have to be ornate – opening up access to beautiful areas is enough

Appreciating the landscape

My sister lives in the Fraser Valley. It is flat, rich agricultural land in the huge flood plain but wherever you look you see mountains. On clear days the light is crisp and clean with blue skies over an open landscape. There is a beauty and grandeur here.

Although this is a running blog I often talk about landscapes. This is because being somewhere stimulating, noticing new things on familiar routes, seeing how everything looks different in different light, being aware of changes in the seasons is an important part of the experience. It is a necessary counterbalance to a tendency to be too absorbed by your own body: how you are doing, how you are feeling, whether you are flying or struggling. You have to look out as well as in.

My sister has a wonderful landscape to run in. The mountains never look the same; the light and shadows are always changing and the pattern of clouds is always shifting. The picture at the top is a bit of a cheat because it is not from a run (it was taken a few miles away, looking over the Fraser at Mission) but it shows how sometimes, on a clear day, strata of clouds can make the view a peep show.

You can never tire of such sights or take for granted your ability to enjoy them.

Royal Victoria Marathon - Introduction

In the two weeks I was in Canada the seasons turned. When I arrived most of the leaves were still green but in a short time there was a wide spectrum of greens, yellows, browns and reds. It was spectacular, everyday you could look out and see the change. That is why the headline picture for these posts about the Victoria Marathon happens to be leaves that are about to turn. Nothing to do with running, but everything to do with my basic belief that running gets you out into the landscape and gives you an opportunity to see and feel it more closely. In other words it is an excuse to pay attention.

The report will be in two parts: the first describes the event itself, whilst the second is about how we all did.

I am rather sad about a complete absence of photos from the race or even of Victoria. I didn't take my camera on the race as it didn't seem appropriate to stop to take pictures (though I'm not sure it would have made much difference to my time). In the bright autumn light the course was wonderful and I thought I would return the following day just to record some of the views. Unfortunately the weather closed in and Monday was just cloud and rain – a complete wash out.

So you will just have to take my word for it that the course was beautiful and that if you want to run a marathon anywhere in North America, you couldn't do better than Victoria (unless,of course, you want the buzz of a big city race).

Royal Victoria Marathon - About the race

We were very lucky this year in that the weather was perfect – light was clear, air was still and temperature crisp. The course could not have been presented any better and a naturally beautiful location was lifted. At times you could look out over the flat ocean with its gradations of blue merging into the sky and feel a wave of contentment, even when your body was complaining of abuse.

You can see from the map that the route takes full advantage of Victoria's sea bound location, with its natural harbour and a series of bays and inlets. Most of the time it follows the coastal roads, with many views over the sea. My clearest visual memories of the course are these views, especially as the water was still and offered a glimpse of serenity. Amongst those snapshots are a bay full of yachts and a golf course overlooking the ocean. As I was returning through the golf course a couple crossed the road, pulling their trolleys, chatting and looking very relaxed. I contrasted their pastime with mine. I was aching and trying to remember the reasons for running long, whereas they were at their ease. They even had great scenery to appreciate. Damn I thought there must be some way my game is better than theirs (but at this stage I could even see the attractions of fishing so I knew my thought processes weren't right). Then I went to the next view and the next and I remembered the satisfaction of being physically challenged and doing something that feels hard. The golf course was left well behind.

It route also went through parkland and some interesting housing, which towards the top was quite swanky. In other words there was no dead patch, no stretches of featureless streets or repetitive buildings that make the mental battle just that little bit harder. This is quite a feat for 26 miles of city running.

The support along the way was fun. The volunteers were very good at cheering and clacking us on and there were plenty other people out along the way, some of them sitting outside their houses in their camping seats. Amongst the supporters I remember an old Chinese guy slowly shaking a water bottle half full of rice, almost as if he was doing tai chi. If only I had thought about him a bit more I could have taken the lesson that you can get there more effectively with a with a steady easy rhythm. Later on there was a woman beating with a stick on an empty plastic tub shouting “ You can do it. Attain your dreams. Remember you decided to do this thing.” She made me laugh as I remembered this actually was my choice. But all along the course people offered support. My race number also had my name printed on it and when someone shouted out “Looking strong David, when I felt anything but strong, it actually made me feel better.

Instead of carrying a sign the pace bunnies just wore rabbit ears. They could get away with such a relatively discrete indicator because the field wasn't that large at something over 2,000 people. This is a good size, large enough to stop it getting lonely yet small enough to allow everyone to run their own race unimpeded

At the end there was a food alley where you could load up with apples, bananas, muffins, bagels, cookies, doughnuts and chocolate milk. I came out with my hands overflowing with carbohydrate goodness.

Overall it felt like a friendly, civilised race. All the way round I kept on thinking how much I liked the place but the impression was cemented at the end when, after I had crossed the line, the race organiser shook my hand and thanked me for coming to Victoria. He did this for everybody and I found it an overwhelming decent gesture. Somehow it made the whole race seem personal.

Royal Victoria Marathon - How we did

This was a family run. My wife and niece ran the 8k, my sister and brother in law the half marathon and I ran the marathon. The performances ranged from better than hoped, on schedule, and a bit behind the curve.

The triumph was the 8k. This was my wife's first race and she had trained for it very conscientiously. On the kitchen noticeboard was a schedule from Runners World with every session ticked off (I am full of admiration of her ability to decide on a course of action and then keep to it). Even so she was nervous and not sure what to expect. My niece on the other hand has previously run races but had done no training. As she is young a generally fit this was not too much of a problem and they went round the course together 6 minutes faster than target time. A big hurrah that got bigger when we found out my wife finished 10th in her age category.

The Half marathon was pretty much to plan (again my sister and brother-in-law are also pretty good at keeping to a schedule). It was their first race at this distance and ran together. Their aim was 2 hours and they achieved 2.01, which is just about spot on. I actually saw them on the run at a point where the marathon and half marathon met, going in opposite directions. They looked to be running strongly and I am sure their next race will see their time drop.

My race was slower than I wanted but as I did not have any great expectations I felt quite satisfied. A persistent ankle problem meant my training had been more about keeping going rather than pushing things too hard and so I knew I did not have the endurance for a strong race. I started with three possible outcomes in mind; If everything went super well 4.15 might be possible, the realistic target was somewhere around 4.30,but the main objective was to keep going. So coming in at 4.38 was OK, actually it was better than that as I felt very happy that I had completed, even if I had been outrun by an eighty year old woman (side note: Betty Jean McHugh set a world record for her age category by finishing in 4.36).

More than getting round I thought I had learnt a number of lessons:

The first was that run/walk (10 minutes run, one minute walk) is a good strategy, which helped, at the very least, to make the first half comparatively comfortable. It seems to be more common in Canada than back home and so it was easy to take the breaks as there were lots of us doing it. When you are fresh it feels like a slightly unwelcome interruption because you feel good and don't want to break-up the rhythm but as you go on you appreciate the breaks and look forward to the change. Dividing the race up into small chunks of time is also a good mental strategy as you can focus on getting to the next break rather than looking at the number of miles till the end. The major problem I had was with the water stations. They did not fit the time schedule. I took them as extra breaks because I am not very good with paper cups but I was always slightly confused by what to do.

So lesson number two is to run with my own drinks. On long runs I normal use a Camelback and find it relatively comfortable. In no way would it slow me down and it would mean I could timetable my own breaks. Using drinks for fuel would also overcome lesson number three: I do not like gels. Because my training runs were not that long I didn't practice with gels enough and the extra I had to take for a marathon were distinctly unappetising.

Lesson number four was about my running style. I observed two distinct ways of moving. My normal style is fairly relaxed, with a forefoot/midfoot landing and looking ahead. The more tired I get the more my stride shortens and I stiffen up until I am shuffling along, striking with my heel, and looking at the ground, which is uncomfortable as well as slow but don't feel I can do anything else. The lesson is to work systematically on extending the time I can run normally in training. When things start to go bad I will have to use a mantra of saying “Relax, relax, ease out” and also “Look up”.
Lesson five is about music – it helped. I used my Ipod from 1 hour 45 and found it a good distraction. I had it on shuffle (which was quite appropriate given my running style) so I didn't know what was coming next and I liked the surprises – who knew that Tom Waites could make you feel good when running?

Lesson six was a reinforcement of something I usually try to do: look around and appreciate the surroundings. In this race looking at the sea made me feel happy and I had no need of the mental trick I sometimes use, which is to picture my home run and imagine the familiar sights of the canal.

The final lesson was about accepting your own performance. Towards the end someone shouted out “You're nearly there now , you can start to feel good” “Not if you have a target” someone muttered to herself rather bleakly. I wanted to try to talk her round but I knew it was futile but anyway she was ahead of me and I did not feel motivated enough to catch her up. But she made me realise that although I was not going to be proud of my time I was going to be proud of having done the race and to me that felt important.

A Picture To Remind Me

I am posting this picture as a reminder.

Tomorrow I fly off for my marathon and this and similar images will be important. When things get tough and the road ahead seems endless I will picture myself running by the Canal. In my head I will run my favourite sections and feel at home and comfortable – well that is the theory.

I will not be posting for a couple of weeks, so in that time good running everybody.

Mental Turmoil Before a Race

Just 4 days to go to my marathon and there is nothing I can do to make myself fitter, increase endurance or lose weight. Nothing - absolutely nothing. All that left is to regret the things I did not do and worry about how things will turn out.

Who knows if I have put enough endurance in my legs? Although I fell short on my long runs I have been fairly consistent in my pattern of exercise, despite some injury gaps. I might be able to hang on – well that is what I am hoping; that is what I keep telling myself. However there is no margin for error. The cut-off time is 5 hours, so if I blow up and have to walk for long periods it could be touch and go as to whether I am allowed to finish.

Now I know that a pop psychologist will say that you should dismiss all such negative thoughts and just concentrate on succeeding, just picture yourself crossing that finishing line, just imagine running comfortably. That all makes sense and positive visualisation is quite enjoyable, in a daydreamy sort of way. I like doing that. However I can’t get too carried away because my default mental setting is pessimism about my own abilities, which has a tendency to corrode any rah-rah thinking. Instead I have to acknowledge my fears and work them through. I can’t wish them away.

The fears are largely based on the Amsterdam marathon last year, where I walked over a third of the course and finished a few seconds inside 5 hours. I have to convince myself that there were particular reasons for that and I am fitter and stronger this time. Although my head knows those reasons (I had picked up a virus and was not very well) my body still holds the memory of utter exhaustion. Because it was in my last marathon that memory looms large and a nasty voice in my head taunts me by saying ‘you’re only making excuses; maybe you can never last more than 15 miles’.

I have to be able to silence that voice and for this I have a number of strategies:

1) Letting go of the idea of failure. If it falls apart again, it is not a disaster. It is just another chapter in my running story – something I have to learn from. All that matters is that I do as well as I can on the day and then look upon it dispassionately, with the eyes of an outsider.

2) Turn Amsterdam around and look at it positively, as I was actually quite proud of myself. I kept going and finished. I think that was some sort of achievement.

3) Look at the positives of this years training – some sessions have been quite good. Overall I have enjoyed my running.

4) Feel the body getting stronger during this taper period and trust that feeling. I can believe that I will feel quite well rested at the start (even if I don’t know what time zone I am in).

5) Use the anxiety positively, to keep me cautious in the early stages . Just hold back and then hold back some more.

Above all I have to remember why I run and why I am doing this. I run partly for enjoyment, partly for fulfilment, partly for connections and partly to ask questions of myself. If I keep that in mind on Sunday then I am sure things will be OK.

What Marathon?

Sometimes I am amazed at the connection you can find. This is picture bizarrely contains a number of family relationship.

Running is a way I mark out my territory. If I cover a route enough times I get to know the landscape and feel an association. This is a photo from a familiar run it is therefore part of my territory. So that is me

The totem pole was carved in British Colombia and shipped out to a timber merchant who used to operate from this site in Berkhamsted. My sister now lives in British Colombia. So that is my sister.

In the background is a pub called the Crystal Palace, an area of London I know well, not only because my elder daughter currently lives there but because my mother's family come from nearby in Croydon. My mother was a girl when the Palace burnt down in 1936 and she once told me of her memories of watching the flames dominating the night sky. She also supported the football team. So that is my mother and my daughter.

What other relationships can I find? Oh yes... the totem pole was actually carved on Vancouver Island and in two weeks time I am going to visit my sister. She and my brother-in-law are going to run the half marathon, my wife is going to run the 8k and I am going to run the marathon in Victoria, Vancouver Island.

So that is it. There is no way I am in good enough shape for a marathon but I have to try. I have to follow the connections in the photo.

Looking More Closely

Today was one of those beautifully calm autumn days, clear and bright with a slight sharpness in the air - perfect for running. On days like this I want to see further, notice my surroundings more, look people in the eye and face the world. I keep my head up and my posture is improved. I look about me and reflect on the way the weather affects my mood and how much of the summer has been overcast or wet.

Recently running has been a struggle. The memory of the day when I was totally washed-out stayed with me for some time and all the gloomy days have made me feel – well … gloomy. Injury further lowered my spirits and so my only ambition has been to keep going - in whatever way I could, even if that was not much.

So days like this feel good.

I did not go for a long run and had no aim other than to enjoy myself. I ran at whatever pace I felt like, which actually varied quite a bit, so did not check my watch or hrm. If I felt like stopping to look around – well that is what I did. It was not a run you could categorise in any training schedule. All you could say was that I was out and about.

The picture gives some idea of the peacefulness of the day but for me it is another reminder about the need to pay attention and think about what you see. I have run over this bridge countless times as it is on my stock route, but never once noticed the mini arch. Why is it there – a passing lane for ducks? It is not as if the span to large for one brick arch.

I still do not know the reason but at least I have asked that question and have looked more closely at my surroundings

Running in Literature iii - That Memory Book

This is part of a very occasional series of posts about running in a non-running books. That Memory Book is onset of middle aged memory loss and what can be done about it. It explores the causes and the whole range of existing strategies. One of the key conclusions is the importance of keeping physically and mentally alert – always challenging yourself. This passage comes from the introduction:

One day I was walking the dogs at sunrise, on a bike path that ran along a nearby river. I was enjoying a full forty five minutes with nothing to do while I waited for my son to finish his session with his maths tutor, when I spotted an older man with an unusual gait. Every few running strides, he lurched forward, then caught himself and continued on his way. On each knee below the hem of his form fitting Lycra athletic shorts he’d wrapped an elastic brace, the kind you buy at the chemist. He caught up with me quickly and introduced himself as Zvi Dunenberg. He was eighty years old and he jogged between eight and fifteen miles a day depending on the weather. He’d run nearly eighty thousand miles in his life, in his own estimation, all of them since he’d turned sixty five, when the doctors recommended long, slow walks for a sore lower back. ‘To tell you the truth’ he said in an old country accent, ‘this walking, it bored me silly. So one day I ran a hundred yards, just to break things u, and that was it I was hooked.’

He was in excellent physical shape for his age but what was really important about the running, he confided, was the social life it engendered. It helped keep his brain in trim. ‘I know the names of two hundred and fifty people and dogs and some cats too, that I meet on this walking path’ he said, after ascertaining that the shepherd mutt sitting politely beside me was Rosie and that Radar was the little Havanese who was frantically trying to climb up his leg. ‘And you ‘ he said as if cementing the information in his mind ‘are Cathryn’. By now the sun was up and every few yards along the path, we stopped to greet another jogger or dog walker. He took pains to introduce me to everyone.

This passage is full of much that is wonderful and much that is strange.

What is wonderful is that the man is obviously a hero – anybody at that age who consistently runs that mileage puts me to shame - makes me feel like a dilettante. It is a vivid illustration of how running can not only be good for the body but also help keep the mind sharp. If you ever have to justify to yourself the value of time spent running, then this passage provides part of the answer.

The strangeness is in the culture of greeting and introducing strangers to each other in a public space, as if the people on the path are part of a club. I can perhaps imagine this happening in a safe neighbourhood in America, where there is more directness and openness to social interactions. Perhaps I can happen in a small community in Britain, where most people know each other, but I cannot imagine it in the towns of South East England. Here most people even avoid eye contact when they pass each other.

Mostly I don’t talk to others when I am on my runs. Sometimes I will meet someone I know and enjoy a short chat. At other times, especially when I am have a break wandering round to find a photograph, I might strike up a conversation with a stranger. The man and his dog is an example of this. We didn’t talk of much: where I had run from compared to his boat trip (I had gone quite a bit further as long boats are quite slow). But that was enough.

I will never be Zvi Dunenberg, with his enormous network of acquaintances but the occasional interaction is good – it makes the running feel better, as if you are part of the place.

P.S. The strangeness in this passage is not the runner but the author sending her son for extra maths at sunrise. I would guess there is a fair amount of pressure in that household.

Not Even The Centre Of My Own Universe

Last week the writer David Foster Wallace killed himself.

As part of a tribute to him the Guardian published a speech he gave to a graduating class at Kenyon College, Ohio. After talking about the need to look outside of yourself and pay attention to others, the conclusion is poignant.

I know that this stuff probably doesn't sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational. What it is, so far as I can see, is the truth with a whole lot of rhetorical bullshit pared away. Obviously, you can think of it whatever you wish. But please don't dismiss it as some finger-wagging Dr Laura sermon. None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head.

He suffered from depression and did not make it to fifty.

I am fascinated by the theme of his talk – the idea of stepping outside of your own viewpoint, so that you are no longer the centre of the universe. I had my own moment of insight some years ago, in the most mundane of circumstances. I was shopping in Sainsbury’s, and instead of focusing on the bread I wanted, for an instant, I looked at all the other people buying. I then thought of how many loaves this one store would sell in a day, then how many would be sold by Sainsbury’s as a whole and then by all the supermarkets in the country. I then thought of all the shipping and organisation needed to get the right quantitys of this one product to where it was needed. I marvelled at the complexity of it all, the number of people involved and the information processing. Yet it was something I took for granted. For me it was a simple transaction – just me buying one loaf of bread.

I then realised that no action was 'just me'. Everything rested on a huge platform created by thousands, millions of others - not only that, there were thousands, millions of others wanting to do the same thing at the same time and that above everything else there was a fascinating network of activity.

Nevertheless most of the time I see the world as if I am the centre of the universe. However running plays about with this outlook. It might not stop me seeing myself as the centre but it does mess it up in pleasing ways.

On the one hand there is no other pastime that is so self-absorbed. We all meticulously log our runs, monitor progress, examine how our body feels and whether twinges are serious or trivial, and worry about nutrition. (The number of runners who don’t over think in this way must be very small). On the other hand the act of running empties you out. You loose large lumps of you normal concerns as physical activity takes over and your personality is stripped down to the act of moving. Unlike most other sports there is not a high level of skill, requiring constant concentration. You can allow you mind free play to wander about and in itself this provides a pleasant background burbling. However some of the time you think about nothing at all and these are the treasured moments because you have lost yourself.

You have lost the 'you' at the centre of the world trying to negotiate your way through a network of tasks and responsibilities. Running has given you a few moments of freedom from that burden and opened the world up so that you can see it slightly differently. However it does not take you to that next level of understanding others and seeing things from their point of view. When you meet dog owners with long extendable leads, who look on indulgently as their dogs runs at your ankles, or when you meet a group, taking up the whole path, who do not give you any passing room, you just want to shout ‘Get out of the way! Runner coming through’. At such moment you are only thinking of your own needs.

Tangled Up And Blue

Mostly running injuries are stresses and strains bought on by overuse. In other words you get carried-away in your training regime then random parts of the body start to complain. As they make their point by hurting, you have to pay attention. It happens to most runners and there is a well trod path. We ease back, get better, learn our lesson and vow to be more sensible next time. We are for a bit, but then the over-confidence demon pops up and another body part gets sacrificed. The thing that keeps us going is that this cycle can be quite long and we can run injury free for long periods.

However some injuries fall outside the normal spectrum and are the result of good old-fashioned stupidity. That's me at the moment old-fashioned and stupid.

It happened last Sunday. I was running near the edge of the pavement, which was bending round to the right. I landed with less than half of my left foot on the curb. As a result my ankle twisted down and I followed – splat! Laid out in a very inelegant heap.

Result: bruises and grazes on my knee, elbow, and shoulder, a hand that has swollen like a puff-ball and a broken finger. It is all very inconvenient. I can't grip anything with my left hand and all sorts of simple tasks become complicated

After three days off I had to give myself a talking to: “Just because you feel a little beaten-up, there is no excuse for not running” was the gist (except that I added a few more insults and expletives).

So today I went out for an easy 35 minutes. And you know what ... I still feel beaten-up.

At Play but Looking At Work

One of the great pleasures of running by a canal is feeling close to Victorian engineering, which is solid, wonderfully tactile, displays strength through mass. In addition there is often a little bit of decoration, just to show that it is not all earnest utility.

This is a detail from the turn-back bridge on my last long run. The cast iron pattern is not particularly ornate but it breaks-up what would otherwise be a uniform railing and the intertwining of the climbing plant shows how the functional can become picturesque. .

Now I make no great claims for this as a piece of ironwork, but my eye is taken by the nut. It clearly shows how it ,was fixed together, the size of spanner and the amount of physical force required. I can imagine the muscular effort and can almost picture how it was originally assembled and the hard, hard work that went into the making of the canal.

I compare my physical effort, which is done for recreation and a sense of wellbeing to that of a navvy who would have a life expectancy of about 40. Not for the first time I feel immensely privileged.

Isaac Newton said “If I have seen further it is by standing on ye shoulders of Giants”. I can only run here by standing on the backs of thousands of workmen.

Anyway this bridge is at a place called Cow Roast. What an odd name that is. I wonder how many cows they had to roast over what period of time before it was fixed in the local imagination that this was the place to do it? But of course that is rubbish speculation. The place is on an ancient drovers route and the the best guess is that the name is a corruption of 'cow rest', where there were pens for grazing cattle to be held overnight.

Again that is work and the history of work making the landscape.

Running Does Not Upspeak

The Internet is a bit like Jack Horner's Christamas pie, you stick in a thumb and pull out a random morsel. In this case it is a poem by Taylor Mali about upspeak that you can listen to here .

Now it is the job of this blog to relate things to running, either directly or as an exercise in convoluted reasoning. I have quite a lot of scope with this game because one of my core assumptions is that running keeps you honest. You cannot fudge how fast, far or how easily you can move and so you have to come to terms with your own abilities and look objectively at both what you can do and what you do do. In one small area of your life you can say this is what I am and this is what I know.

Running can therefore be a yardstick to be placed against other things that are messier and more confusing. In that way you can relate it to almost anything.

So can I relate it to a poem about a style of speech? Well it is possible because it ends with this plea:

I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.

Well what else is running but an expression of your convictions, determination and your own authority?

Running is a straightforward activity: a deal you make with yourself that the more you put in the more you get out. It is not a matter of subtle argument or intellectual complexity. You do something and you can measure and describe the results. It is declarative and therefore relates quite well to the theme of the poem.

The Dangers of Golf

I regularly run near to three golf courses: The Grove, Berkhamsted, and Ashridge. The Grove I have already written about.

The Berkhamsted course is particularly attractive. It is carved out of the Common and actually adds to the recreational feeling of the land. It is criss-crossed with footpaths and is not therefore a privileged enclave, fenced off and private. In fact it was the Golf Course in conjunction with the National Trust who preserved the land as a Commons and for that reason I feel warmly towards it. However footpaths crossing the fairways can be dangerous.

Running out from behind some bushes I heard the metal crack of a driver. Better stop I thought. At the same moment I looked round I heard the shout of 'Fore!' and a ball flew past me, about an arms length away. “That was close” I thought and then carried on. It had been the merest pause; I hardly missed a step and didn't think any more about it. Only afterwards did I think that I had been rather sanguine. Another couple of feet and I could have been laid out on the grass watching stars circling above my head. It would have been no ones fault. The golfers could not see me when they hit the ball and because I was running I came into its path sooner than I would have done if walking.

There is only one conclusion: 'pay more attention'. That is an interesting problem when running because sometimes it is good to disassociate and let your mind wander somewhere else. So the conclusion has to be specific: 'disassociation is fine but not near the golf course.'.

It might be a little indistinct but this the photo with this post looks out to one of the greens of the Ashridge Golf Course. I had a look at the club website and took particular pleasure in their dress code. Apparently tailored shorts are allowed but only if they are worn with long socks, turned over at the top. Brilliant! Grown men basing their rules for dressing on the Boy Scouts.

Even if I could afford it (or even if I played golf), I would never join a club that thought dressing as a Boy Scout was a way of keeping up standards.

The Problem was Mainly One of Timing

I wrote earlier that my runs tend to be temperate. Although they can be a bit better or a bit worse the variation from the mean is not that great. Yesterday however was horrible. So unpleasant that I started to wonder what on earth I was doing.

As is the as in all such stories It all started so well. The plan was for a longish run and I set out at an easy pace feeling relaxed, Although the sky was grey and damp the air was still and the temperature was pleasant. It was perfect weather for running and I started to think about the differences between good running weather and the general definition of good weather: cool is good as running in the heat is sapping; still is excellent as I hate battling the wind; damp is OK, as soft rain or drizzle can be quite refreshing.

Most of the run was unremarkable. I passed a number of fishermen and wondered what was good weather for fishing. In season they are always out. Even if it is raining hard they will continue to sit patiently by the banks, bundled up, under an umbrella. Nothing will stop a keen fisherman but when is it most enjoyable? This is another area of life of which I know nothing.

I reached my turn round point and it started to rain more heavily but not unpleasantly. The sky though was very, very dark. About 4 miles from home everything changed – a sheet of lightening, a rumble of thunder and an enormous downpour of heavy rain i.e. big droplets that stung when they hit you. I sheltered under a bridge hoping it would pass over but as I got colder and a bit shivery the rain showed no signs of stopping so I set off again.

This was not at all pleasant. Not only was I a bit stiff, I couldn't get a rhythm because I was dodging puddles, trying to find places to land my feet and all the time the rain was getting harder. The towpath eventually became completely covered with water and it was increasingly difficult to run. I had the bright idea thatt the road might be a better surface but this was a mistake. I had no idea how completely the drainage system had been overwhelmed. The roads and pavements were a mixture of fast flowing rivers and lakes with water up to or over the level of the kerbs. The manhole covers had popped up and were gushing water and every time a car passed it sent up an almighty whoosh of spray.

It was impossible to get any wetter - my clothes were stuck to my body and my trainers slurped every time they moved. After struggling along for a couple of miles I suddenly admitted to myself that I was not enjoying this at all and I lost all heart. I had no desire to go on and stopped running. All that was left was a long trudge home. The sky was still gunmetal grey, the rain was still hard, there was still thunder and lightening. My limbs felt heavy and my spirits felt even heavier.

Last Saturday

There is a tragedy in this picture. The sign is in the bouquets of flowers on the roof of the boat on the extreme right -Foxy.

When I took this photo I had no idea. My only thought was that it was a very calm day, the moorings seemed peaceful and I wanted to show the development built on the site of the old John Dickinson paper mill. I only understood the significance after I had finished my run and bought a paper. The headline of the nearby local-paper told of of a boat owner who had drowned last Saturday.

Apparently he lived here at the Apsley Lock Moorings and kept to himself. The body was pulled from the water at 1.30, but the police are not treating the death as suspicious. At approximately the same time as I was taking a photo of a cricket match and thinking about how English the scene seemed. I don't know why that now seems odd, but it does; as does the fact that I ran past the moorings out and back, and was completely unaware that anything had happened.

Evolved Skills

I like Brighton with its mixture of the shabby and the smart, the bohemian and the down-to-earth. It is the traditional seaside resort for Londoners and I can remember trips from my early childhood, so it is also a place full of subconscious associations. This year we went there for a traditional bank holiday outing, where we wandered round the Lanes, walked along the prom, messed around on the pebbly beach and finished with some comfort eating.

Along the way I saw a woman reading palms and telling fortunes with a notice saying she had been a clairvoyant for 36 years. That got me wondering how much experience mattered for a clairvoyant, surely their whole pitch is that they have a special gift? Maybe its like everything, they have to practice to get in the groove. I don't know but the materialist in me would be more impressed with a sign that said something like 'cabinet maker for 36 years'. Then I would know what sort of skills had been developed.

On the beach there was quite a strong breeze coming off the sea and I became fascinated watching the seagulls. Wings outstretched they hovered, almost still in the wind, then changed direction and swooped down with ease and pace. They were perfectly adapted animals and there was joy in seeing that. Grace in movement is an aesthetic pleasure.

I was reminded of George Sheehan's idea that running helps us become a good animal but looking round the beach and I wonder how many of us could move with grace. Probably not many, myself included - and I run quite a lot. But being a good animal is about something other than grace. It is about discovering how we evolved and how we how are bodies are adapted and when we run we do this by testing how long or fast we can go. We both look for our limits and try to find the most economical way to move.

I like the way this links with the theory that as a species we evolved to run long distances. (See this article from last year).

Bramble and Lieberman were not at all surprised that a man won the Man Versus Horse Marathon. It fits their hypothesis. Unlike many mammals, not to mention primates, people are astonishingly successful endurance runners, "and I don't think it's just a fluke," Lieberman says. He and Bramble argue that not only can humans outlast horses, but over long distances and under the right conditions, they can also outrun just about any other animal on the planet—including dogs, wolves, hyenas, and antelope, the other great endurance runners. From our abundant sweat glands to our Achilles tendons, from our big knee joints to our muscular glutei maximi, human bodies are beautifully tuned running machines. "We're loaded top to bottom with all these features, many of which don't have any role in walking," Lieberman says. Our anatomy suggests that running down prey was once a way of life that ensured hominid survival millions of years ago on the African savannah.

The seagulls swooping in the sky or Kenenisa Bekele running 10,000 meters are wonderful examples of animal motion. We on the beach are similarly evolved – just out of condition. Nevertheless we can all run and with practice get better. We can all get closer to our animal nature but even if we concentrated for every moment of every day for 36 years we would still not be able to tell the future.

Village Cricket

I don't know how English I feel. I know that of my four grandparents three were English and one was Irish. I also know that I was born and lived the first few years in South London before spending a formative part of my childhood on the Welsh-English border. Most of the rest of the time I have lived in London or the Home Counties. So that's it , easy, not only English but Southern English – the most complacent of the breed.

But I don't really think of it like that. Mostly I don't think about it at all and this is probably quite typical. The issues of identity can be both complex and contradictory I also have a strong distrust of overt nationalism and prefer to look at the specifics of a person rather than the generalities of a people. Nevertheless there are images of Englishness I carry round in my head, some of which I find quite comforting. A surprising number come from the Nineteenth Century but increasingly they have little to do with the society I live in.

I was thinking about this when watching the Olympics. Seeing the competitors cry on winning or with the disappointment of losing or seeing them jump about to celebrate how brilliant they had been. Long gone is the emotionally inhibited gentleman who would greet victory with a quick 'good show' or 'that was not bad' and think it a bit unseemly to exalt too much in ones own success.

This might very well be a good thing. Too much emotional repression is probably not a good thing and understated language can lead to misunderstanding. (There is a dramatic example from the Korean War when an English Brigadier reported to his American superior that 'things were a bit sticky', meaning desperate but was interpreted by the American as saying things were not too bad. As a result neither reinforcements were sent nor was there any order to withdraw). Nevertheless I have a fondness for people quietly and calmly getting on with the job of being excellent and so savoured the answer of Tim Brabants, the gold medal winning canoeist, to the question of how he could go back to just being Dr Tim. “Oh quite easily” he replied “no one will recognise me.”

My type of running is evenly modulated in that 'just-getting-on-with-it' sort of way (as long as you forget the idea of excellence). Sessions are never brilliant or disastrous, some go a little better than others, but that is all. Also I don't know what is meant by the term 'runners high'. At the end of a run I will often get feelings of immense contentment and a sense of peace but it is not euphoric and don't think see how it can be described as a high. So I think my hobby sits very well with some of my outdated ideas of a reserved Englishman.

Yesterday's run did everything to confirm this. I passed this cricket ground and loved the sound of 'willow on leather'. It felt comforting.

However one should not get too sentimental. There is a bloody great dual carriage way carrying speeding traffic just to the left of this picture. Things always move on.

Making the Most of Our own Belief Systems

I love the Olympics with its mixture of minority sports that you never think of at any other time to stories of individual heroism, or even tiny little factoids about individual competitors. For example it gives me disproportionate pleasure to know that Christine Ohuruogu is the world's fastest linguist – yes she has a linguistics degree and her final year dissertation was on swear words. That was before I saw her race and then the way she won gold just made it better.

The story that has fascinated me most is the dominance of the GB cycle team not only because it is a story of individual prowess but also because it is an example of how to create a structure and environment for success. In every aspect they have been the most organised and professional team, with full attention paid to every detail (There is a good summary of the programme for success here and a full chronology of the pathway from the shambolic to the supreme here.).

I have been particularly interested in the role of the psychiatrist Steve Peters. Most of the people who help athletes with their mental approach call themselves sports psychologists but Peters is different as his background is forensic psychiatry and he has worked at Rampton Hospital. I don't know if that makes a difference but his practice seems to be rooted in the one-to- one approach of psychiatry. He does not offers an easy formula for success; there are no tips for a quick fix, instead he works to build a foundation of understanding so the the athletes knows how their minds work. This can take 12 months and is followed by understanding how other people think and then communication.

A good article about this works with the cycling team was published in the Guardian in May. This quote gives the practical basis of his approach:

"You walk in with a belief system, ideas, behaviour that you apply to sport. Some people can do very well, but most of us aren't sure how to use the equipment. I say 'This is how your mind works, this is how you get strength in certain areas, this is how to build up on the weak points, this is the skills base you need'."

The thing is that you do not have to be Chris Hoy or Victoria Pendleton for this to be appropriate - it applies to all of us plodding along, trying to get the best from our running. We all need to know how we gain strength and ways to combat our weaknesses. The knowledge that this is a skill that can be learnt is tremendously encouraging. Similarly the underlying philosophy of the cycling set-up can encourage everybody:

Where the British cycling team has broken new ground is in taking a bottom-up, athlete-centred approach, and here Peters has been key. "The athlete has to own their own programme," he says. "They formulate what they are doing." Rather than the coach telling the cyclist how he or she should be training, the athlete is strongly encouraged to take the coach's advice and take the final decision according to rules that have been previously agreed on, with the coach viewed more as an expert adviser. Commitment, ownership, responsibility and personal excellence are the watchwords, and again the nuance is important. "We would like excellence. What we ask for is personal excellence, which is very different."

So many of the people out there running on the roads and certainly all the people who write the blogs I read have that quality. They are taking responsibility for themselves and aiming for personal excellence, with their own criteria of what excellence means . We might not have all the resources at our disposal, no team of supporting experts but by exchanging experiences we can gain strength. If someone does something that sounds good we can try to apply it ourselves. In this respect its a bit like this quote from George Sheehan:

My advice to these advisors would be. "Do not tell me what to do, tell me what you do. Do not tell me what is good for me, tell me what is good for you. If, at the same time you reveal the you in me, if you become a mirror to my inner self, then you have made a listener and a friend."

Offcuts

This looks like a do-it-yourself boat made from the offcuts thrown out by B&Q.

I would hate to make any sort of analogy with my running but 'home made and in need of constant attention to keep it together' would not be unjust.

Ah well, at least I can dream of becoming a sleeker vessel. The boat I'm afraid looks like a lost cause

Stained Glass

This is a very straightforward photograph but it shows how my current project, of using running as a way of exploring the neighbourhood, can lead to discoveries.

I have a number of stock routes and go over the same ground many times. This forces me to look more closely at the familiar, so that nothing is taken for granted. At the same time loops, diversions and the odd excursion are added so that I can find new things. The process of building-in variations is gradual but the photo is the result of it working. Instead of carrying on alongside the canal or using the bridge as a there-and-back marker, as I have done many times before, I left the canal to run a loop in the surrounding streets and immediately wondered why I had never, ever visited this place before.

It is a small hamlet called Hunton Bridge and the number of Nineteenth Century buildings suggest it developed with the coming of the canal, however the pub dates from the Fifteenth Century, so there has obviously been a settlement for a long time.

After coming up onto the street my eye was taken by this building because of the Dutch gables. It houses the Chapel Studio and so I assume it was originally built as a chapel. I liked the idea that a Nineteenth Century church would reference the buildings of another protestant country and so took the picture.

When I got home I could find nothing about the building itself, but found instead that Hunton Bridge is a conservation area, something of which I was completely unaware. Rather wonderfully the Conservation Area Appraisal, completed only last month, is available online and it gives some of the history, pictures of all the notable buildings and early maps showing the development of the settlement. How great is that?

The Chapel Studio is also interesting as it is a stained glass workshop, which carries out new designs, conservation, and restoration. It is obviously a centre of expertise and excellence as it has done work for cathedrals, the Houses of Parliament, and Oxford and Cambridge colleges - in other words national monuments. I don't know how many specialist stained glass workshops there are in the country but it gives me a good feeling to think such a place is within running distance.

It also links with a previous craft theme about the paper mills of the Charante making hand-crafted paper, in the traditional way, for the restoration of old books and documents.

I like it when things come together.

Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen

During today's run I thought about swans. Partly this was the result of the coincidence of two unrelated pieces of reading. The first was Warriorwoman describing being attacked by a swan in her blog, whilst this morning I read 'Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen' by W.B.Yeats, whose third part revolves around the imagery of a swan.

Some moralist or mythological poet
Compares the solitary soul to a swan;
I am satisfied with that,
Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it,
Before that brief gleam of its life be gone,
An image of its state;
The wings half spread for flight,
The breast thrust out in pride
Whether to play, or to ride
Those winds that clamour of approaching night.

I wasn't much concerned with the meaning of the poem, instead I pictured myself running, with my arms half spread for flight and my breast thrust out. Not a lot of pride though; I am not a prideful runner.

From this my thoughts moved to the general imagery of swans and how it was formed by their grace on the water and in flight, and the uniform white of their coat and ignores their rather grumpy, ill-tempered nature. But these thoughts did not last very long , as with all thoughts when running, they wandered off in a series of hazy relationships as if I was playing a game of Chinese whispers with myself. The next strand was about how often I see swans when I am running – not that frequently.. I then started to think of all the birds and ducks I see by or on the canal. My favourite is the heron but they are seen at their best in the early morning when the mist is still rising from the water. I make a note to try to get up earlier to see them more often. Then I start to think about sleep patterns.

So that is how it goes: I run by the water and my mind floats and bobs.

Anyway, as if on cue, some swans appeared and needed to be photographed. I reached into to my belt to get my camera and the swans obviously thought I was going to feed them as they swam towards me and waited expectantly. When they realised there was no food they both disdainfully turned their heads away - as the stanza says, they have their pride.

In the Gym

For the past week a dodgy ankle has stopped me running. Instead I have been cross-training in the gym.

I have previously mentioned my mixed feelings about gyms. The are strange mildly unsociable places where everyone is in their own bubble and there is little interaction. I am no different. I plug in my Ipod and just get on with it, but I do like to look around me. I always watch people on the treadmills and examine the variety of running styles, seeing who lands heavily (not always the heaviest runner), who is graceful, who is too tense, who is economical. Sometimes it is surprising who moves easily and sometimes I want to say something like 'your shoulders are too tense, relax your hands' but I don't, after all we are all in our bubbles and I am not sure how it would be received.

I know that people argue about whether there is such a thing as a correct style with some people insisting you should land on your forefoot, whilst others are equally adamant the the heel strike is the best way. I am equally convinced that it is a futile debate. People run in different ways because their bodies are aligned slightly differently. Yesterday, for example, I watched two people side by side. The man was a heel striker, the girl a forefoot striker but both were very fluid and easy in their style, both were relaxed, both were compact. In other words they both had good form even though the mechanics were different. The common feature was that they were both upright and did not overstride.

There is one man who amazes me. He runs intervals and pushes the speed so high he has to hang onto the bar and bend almost in double (if he didn't I am sure he would go flying off the back of the machine). His feet land with such an almighty thud the noise blots out the music I listen to. I cannot work out what he is trying to achieve, surely going too fast in such a contorted fashion cannot help you run properly

There are other people though who are inspiring. For example there is an Indian man (probably in his twenties) who is badly handicapped. He can barely control his legs to walk and can hardly speak yet he comes regularly, with his mother, to maintain, or even gain, some mobility. I don't know who I admire more, him for trying inspite of difficulties or her for her constant, and obviously loving, support. Her whole life must be dominated by the need to look after her son but you can see the pleasure in her eyes when he manages to walk a bit further or throw a ball a bit straighter. One of the members of staff is often there to help, introducing exercises to test him that little bit more, encourage him by gentle teasing, whilst his mother will follow close by to stop him falling.

When I see the three of them working in this way I know I can put my reservations about gyms to one side. They are places where good can be done