It's been a strange week. Torrential rain & gale force winds struck the Bristol/Bath area, water levels rose, rivers burst their banks, drains couldn't take the volume of water that was flowing, trees blew over, and work went onto a 'war footing'... Essentially that meant that the volume of work, enquires from the public, & out-of-hours emergencies went through the roof, and I was placed on-call for the grave yard shift of 1am-9am... The knock-on effect of all this was that training/keeping fit suffered. Training runs had to be altered to fit in with time scales, some running routes had to be drastically altered to avoid flooded areas (sometimes in the middle of the run), and the local swimming pool, handily located almost next door to the office, through necessity, became the training venue of choice.
One run that did happen was an off-road run of silly proportion. A work colleague had entered this years Bath Hilly Half Marathon (it's hilly, muddy, frantic, dangerous in places, exhilarating - I finished 5th last year) but had no off-road shoes. Desperate to try them out I agreed to take him for an off-road run one lunchtime. The original route was quickly abandoned when I discovered that large parts of the route, along the river from Keynsham to Hanham, were under water. Not to be deterred I improvised a route across flooded fields to Meadow Wood which got sillier the wetter we got. Splashing our way around the wood, scaring the wildlife (we saw deer) and getting muddier with each passing moment - all with Cheshire Cat grins on our faces. On the way back to the office we decided to cut through Keynsham Memorial Park and ended up wading, thigh deep, in the flood waters. As Mr T would say "I pity you fools".
But, back to the swimming. When I was a kid I hated swimming in the pool. Whenever my mum would give me a pound to go to the pool I used to buy 10 Players No.6 cigarettes & a bag of chips instead. I learnt to 'swim' by splashing about in rivers with my school mates. Consequently I never learnt to swim properly. This is what I've been learning to do in the local pool. So far, so good, and I'm definitely improving. Which is lucky because I also entered next Mays Westonbirt Sprint Triathlon - just a mere 4 weeks after the London Marathon. Obviously the words 'rest' and 'recuperation' don't exist in any dictionary that I've ever seen. I may even squeeze in a couple more over the summer months... And the requisite 16 lengths needed for a sprint triathlon that I mentioned last week? This very evening I broke my PB for the distance again with a time of 9:44. The first time I've ever recorded a sub-10min time. Chuffed is an understatement...
Wind, rain, & mud came, once again to the fore on Sunday. Although it wasn't raining, the Brent Knoll Race was a very wet & muddy affair. I'd originally planned to run this with AT aka 'Squeaky Pip', the Warmley Ironman, but on the day he decided to spectate/support at the Bath Hilly Half, leaving just 4 Bitton runners to face the climb up the 137m knoll. Fact of the day: The word 'knoll' usually means a small hill or hill-top. The name Brent derives from the olde English word "brant" meaning "steep". In plain English it means bloody 
steep hill covered in mud. (Last time I did this race it actually meant bloody steep hill covered in snow & ice...) Anyway, 'running' to the top of Brent Knoll, from the BASC in Burnham, was a torturous affair with runners grabbing handfuls of mud, grass, fencing etc in order to help pull themselves up some pretty muddy slopes. I reached the peak in 23 minutes and, as always, the view from the top was exhilarating. There was, however, no time to sight-see as I knew that I had a suicidal downhill to run. The first section of downhill was, well, scary. I scree-scrambled sideways until gravity took over & I fell, sliding past a surprised Bristol & West runner & nearly crashing into a race marshall. Quickly back on my feet & running as fast as I dared I did a quick headcount of the runners in front of me and reckoned that I was in 7th or 8th place. Pushing on I gained on the runners in front, catching up with them as we traversed a stile at the top of the second, and steepest, decent. Dropping down to a crouch I started to slide down the hill, picking up speed, trying not to crash into the runner in front. Once I got myself into a position where I thought that it was safe to get up & started running, I did so. Big mistake. Gravity hadn't finished with me & I began to almost sprint down the hill. Until, that is, I hit a large tuft of grass and took off into fresh air. I flew past one runner, hit the floor, and bounced past another. Coming down again, this time I affected a barrel roll, came up on my feet and carried on running. It must have looked damn impressive because later, after the race, one of the guys I passed complemented me on my downhill technique. I think he may have been taking the piss... Anyway, back on fairly level ground I pushed on as hard as I could. Another quick head count: 5th? 6th? No idea; just keep running. We went over a bridge & a guy from Clevedon went past me. I tucked in behind him & we both passed a runner from Langport. We turned into the penultimate section of the race, heavily rutted farm tracks full of water and heavy clay mud, and caught up with a runner from Nailsea RC. Nearing the end of the tracks they slowed to traverse a large boggy section. As they did so I accelerated and splashed my way through the middle. Right, now, push as hard as you can you bald bugger... I kicked hard as we entered the final section, a grassed field. I could hear my better half shouting at me to keep going. Why do people always shout that at runners? Do they think that we're going to stop to admire the scenery? I turned the final corner, crossed the finishing line & fell to my knees retching from the effort. Then some bloke is asking if he can have a photo of me with a couple of other runners for the local paper. Why? I asked. "So we can get a photo of the first three across the line", he replies... Hang on, first three? Wow, I don't think I've ever been top three in a race before. Fastest in my age group, yes, but never third overall... And the moral of that story is that even when you're long in the tooth and short of hair, sometimes you can still surprise yourself. Even if you are caked in mud...
steep hill covered in mud. (Last time I did this race it actually meant bloody steep hill covered in snow & ice...) Anyway, 'running' to the top of Brent Knoll, from the BASC in Burnham, was a torturous affair with runners grabbing handfuls of mud, grass, fencing etc in order to help pull themselves up some pretty muddy slopes. I reached the peak in 23 minutes and, as always, the view from the top was exhilarating. There was, however, no time to sight-see as I knew that I had a suicidal downhill to run. The first section of downhill was, well, scary. I scree-scrambled sideways until gravity took over & I fell, sliding past a surprised Bristol & West runner & nearly crashing into a race marshall. Quickly back on my feet & running as fast as I dared I did a quick headcount of the runners in front of me and reckoned that I was in 7th or 8th place. Pushing on I gained on the runners in front, catching up with them as we traversed a stile at the top of the second, and steepest, decent. Dropping down to a crouch I started to slide down the hill, picking up speed, trying not to crash into the runner in front. Once I got myself into a position where I thought that it was safe to get up & started running, I did so. Big mistake. Gravity hadn't finished with me & I began to almost sprint down the hill. Until, that is, I hit a large tuft of grass and took off into fresh air. I flew past one runner, hit the floor, and bounced past another. Coming down again, this time I affected a barrel roll, came up on my feet and carried on running. It must have looked damn impressive because later, after the race, one of the guys I passed complemented me on my downhill technique. I think he may have been taking the piss... Anyway, back on fairly level ground I pushed on as hard as I could. Another quick head count: 5th? 6th? No idea; just keep running. We went over a bridge & a guy from Clevedon went past me. I tucked in behind him & we both passed a runner from Langport. We turned into the penultimate section of the race, heavily rutted farm tracks full of water and heavy clay mud, and caught up with a runner from Nailsea RC. Nearing the end of the tracks they slowed to traverse a large boggy section. As they did so I accelerated and splashed my way through the middle. Right, now, push as hard as you can you bald bugger... I kicked hard as we entered the final section, a grassed field. I could hear my better half shouting at me to keep going. Why do people always shout that at runners? Do they think that we're going to stop to admire the scenery? I turned the final corner, crossed the finishing line & fell to my knees retching from the effort. Then some bloke is asking if he can have a photo of me with a couple of other runners for the local paper. Why? I asked. "So we can get a photo of the first three across the line", he replies... Hang on, first three? Wow, I don't think I've ever been top three in a race before. Fastest in my age group, yes, but never third overall... And the moral of that story is that even when you're long in the tooth and short of hair, sometimes you can still surprise yourself. Even if you are caked in mud...
Weekly totals: Run miles: 23.41 Swim lengths/metres: 193/4825m Cycle miles: 0
Postscript: An old drinking buddy/Gashead friend of mine, Dan H, has launched his own blog charting his aim to run a marathon before his 25th birthday in 2014. I have suggested the Gloucester Marathon to him, offering my support if he needs help with getting himself marathon fit etc, and promised him that, if he wishes, then I shall run it with him and treat it as a long training run before my own Spring marathon... You can follow Dans quest at On The Road To Running.
Thanks for the post script!
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