I'm bursting with excitement. Tasha has finally bagged an agent, and I'm feeling strong for Saturday at Leamington.
It's 12k, so longer than I'm used to - but I'm in much better form from actually bothering to train. Another bonus is that the venue is 2km from the train station, so the ride will be a nice loosening up.
Can't wait!
:-)
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Missed Banbury ... but 2008 feels great
2007 ended with a rather sad fizzle. I was sick as a dog with gastric fireworks on Christmas Day, took a few days to recover and after an exploratory ride at the end of the week I realised I was still too knocked down to realistically race the Banbury round of the Oxford Mail XC league.
But 2008 has felt completely different. I was glad to have taken care of myself and recovered from my illness properly; I've felt strong and fast on the bike all week - well the last two days anyway.
More motivation has come from having been asked to run for the club in the Midlands Championship on the 26th with the penultimate Oxford XC race the weekend after. The following month sees the last running race (for me) of the season (the Reading Half Marathon Corporate relay that we intend to win) and the start of the Criterium season with racing at Hillingdon.
2008 feels great.
But 2008 has felt completely different. I was glad to have taken care of myself and recovered from my illness properly; I've felt strong and fast on the bike all week - well the last two days anyway.
More motivation has come from having been asked to run for the club in the Midlands Championship on the 26th with the penultimate Oxford XC race the weekend after. The following month sees the last running race (for me) of the season (the Reading Half Marathon Corporate relay that we intend to win) and the start of the Criterium season with racing at Hillingdon.
2008 feels great.
Sunday, 9 December 2007
Go big or go home
After experiencing a distinct lack of traction in the Culham mud on 9mm spikes, I decided Id definitely need to get a set of longer spikes. I had intended to fit a set of longer spikes before the Culham round, but crawling around the insides of power stations and a bit of globetrotting put paid to that.
So this weekend, after a nice fast training run, I wandered over and got myself a set of 15mm spikes. Cool, huh?
Monday, 3 December 2007
Character building...
I won't even pretend to understand Cross Country. It is mad. A bunch of seemingly rational people running through knee deep mud in the stinging rain on the first day of an English winter.
The weather wasn't looking good, a howling westerly and "heavy rain" on the BBC's 24-hour forecast. After a short hop on the cosy train to Didcot Parkway, then wrapped up snug in suitably fit-for-purpose lycra, neoprene and other wonderful synthetic materials, I gently rode the easy 10km to Culham Park, the venue for the second round of the Oxford XC League.
The access road was a quagmire, and my bike soon looked more like a crosser than a roadie for all the mud. A precursor of what was to come.
I spent a while trying to locate the club tent only to discover that in attempting to erect it, the tent had almost blown away so race HQ ended up being the boot of Bill's car. After getting changed, but still wrapped up in as much synthetic wonder fabric as had with me, I decided to check out the course. Fortunately from the top of the hill nearly the whole course was visible, or so I was led to believe - all I could see was mud.
Before long it was time to warm up, shed layers and head to the start. As it turns out, the start area approximately comprised a sort of shallow muddy puddle about 1" deep. The gun fired and we were go.
I was keen to get up with the quicker runners, so I got up to speed quickly and moved my way up the pack. The opening stretch was wet but fairly solid underfoot, so I felt quite happy and got into a nice fast stride.
All too soon we reached the first turn and the start of uncharted territory; the solid sparsely grassed ground was swapped for a muddy cut up field. It was a soft, squishy sort of mud. It was mostly at least 200-300mm deep; or at least that is where your foot would stop sinking. Some had their shoes sucked off by the mud! It didn't feel like running, every step was a battle; trying to keep the pace I was rapidly heading for the red.
The course then turned to head along the Thames. The mud was just as bad, but fortunately a narrow grass border provided some respite; although slippery, it was at least relatively firm.
But now the new enemy was the killer headwind that we found ourselves heading into, and it was relentless. It was now about 1km into the race and I was burning. Trying to stay upright, trying to find some traction and push myself forwards, it was all killing me. It was nothing like running at all - not running as I've known it anyways. To add insult, I found myself just heading steadily backwards. I was putting in all I had and I was being passed like I was standing still, the old hands seemingly skimming effortlessly over the mud.
After what felt like an age, it was time to turn for a quick blast across a (thankfully firm) grassy meadow, then back onto a muddy track ready to run up a steep bank, back down again and then back up. For me the climbs, steep and sharp, were a respite of sorts. I think my power-to-weight helps a lot and with the banks being grassy, I was able to get purchase and drive my way up fairly easily. I was able to make up some ground and a few places but before long we were starting lap two (of three), I was back in the mud and losing ground badly.
And this is where I think I started to really experience what cross country is all about. The rain was lashing down, and into the headwind the drops mercilessly stung my face. My muscles were screaming, not just my legs but my whole body! Voices in me screamed, "Stop! Just stop! You can stop!" All I had was my will. I had to keep going. For me. I was completely out of my depth, like in those dreams when you arrive at the velodrome with a BMX. All wrapped up in my misery I was innocently nudged by another runner passing me and I fell into the mud. I dragged myself back up and willed my feet to get me back up to speed. Before long I was back on the steep climbs, and incredibly I found myself making up places.
Running in the mud still felt alien, but I was starting to get the hang of it. Heading into the wind for the last time I accelerated and felt the closest to a rhythm that I'd felt all through the race. The stinging rain didn't matter anymore, the mud didn't seem to be dragging at me quite as much. Turning across the meadow I sped up a bit more still, and took back a few more places. Accelerating up the climbs I was burning, but now it was like a drug. I couldn't get enough so I went faster still. On the final stretch some guys from the team were cheering me in, my legs moved faster and I picked off one, two, three other runners. Too knackered to note my position or stop my watch, I found a spot to squat down and catch my breath.
According to the results online (http://www.oxonxc.org/), I came 82nd, in 39'17", and in doing so contributed to the club's first team retaining the top spot in the league.
I've never felt so completely hopeless or clueless in sport, but I've also never had such an acute sense of achievement. I still have a lot to lean about cross country running, and in the bargain I know I have a lot to learn about myself. What a wonderful journey.
The weather wasn't looking good, a howling westerly and "heavy rain" on the BBC's 24-hour forecast. After a short hop on the cosy train to Didcot Parkway, then wrapped up snug in suitably fit-for-purpose lycra, neoprene and other wonderful synthetic materials, I gently rode the easy 10km to Culham Park, the venue for the second round of the Oxford XC League.
The access road was a quagmire, and my bike soon looked more like a crosser than a roadie for all the mud. A precursor of what was to come.
I spent a while trying to locate the club tent only to discover that in attempting to erect it, the tent had almost blown away so race HQ ended up being the boot of Bill's car. After getting changed, but still wrapped up in as much synthetic wonder fabric as had with me, I decided to check out the course. Fortunately from the top of the hill nearly the whole course was visible, or so I was led to believe - all I could see was mud.
Before long it was time to warm up, shed layers and head to the start. As it turns out, the start area approximately comprised a sort of shallow muddy puddle about 1" deep. The gun fired and we were go.
I was keen to get up with the quicker runners, so I got up to speed quickly and moved my way up the pack. The opening stretch was wet but fairly solid underfoot, so I felt quite happy and got into a nice fast stride.
All too soon we reached the first turn and the start of uncharted territory; the solid sparsely grassed ground was swapped for a muddy cut up field. It was a soft, squishy sort of mud. It was mostly at least 200-300mm deep; or at least that is where your foot would stop sinking. Some had their shoes sucked off by the mud! It didn't feel like running, every step was a battle; trying to keep the pace I was rapidly heading for the red.
The course then turned to head along the Thames. The mud was just as bad, but fortunately a narrow grass border provided some respite; although slippery, it was at least relatively firm.
But now the new enemy was the killer headwind that we found ourselves heading into, and it was relentless. It was now about 1km into the race and I was burning. Trying to stay upright, trying to find some traction and push myself forwards, it was all killing me. It was nothing like running at all - not running as I've known it anyways. To add insult, I found myself just heading steadily backwards. I was putting in all I had and I was being passed like I was standing still, the old hands seemingly skimming effortlessly over the mud.
After what felt like an age, it was time to turn for a quick blast across a (thankfully firm) grassy meadow, then back onto a muddy track ready to run up a steep bank, back down again and then back up. For me the climbs, steep and sharp, were a respite of sorts. I think my power-to-weight helps a lot and with the banks being grassy, I was able to get purchase and drive my way up fairly easily. I was able to make up some ground and a few places but before long we were starting lap two (of three), I was back in the mud and losing ground badly.
And this is where I think I started to really experience what cross country is all about. The rain was lashing down, and into the headwind the drops mercilessly stung my face. My muscles were screaming, not just my legs but my whole body! Voices in me screamed, "Stop! Just stop! You can stop!" All I had was my will. I had to keep going. For me. I was completely out of my depth, like in those dreams when you arrive at the velodrome with a BMX. All wrapped up in my misery I was innocently nudged by another runner passing me and I fell into the mud. I dragged myself back up and willed my feet to get me back up to speed. Before long I was back on the steep climbs, and incredibly I found myself making up places.
Running in the mud still felt alien, but I was starting to get the hang of it. Heading into the wind for the last time I accelerated and felt the closest to a rhythm that I'd felt all through the race. The stinging rain didn't matter anymore, the mud didn't seem to be dragging at me quite as much. Turning across the meadow I sped up a bit more still, and took back a few more places. Accelerating up the climbs I was burning, but now it was like a drug. I couldn't get enough so I went faster still. On the final stretch some guys from the team were cheering me in, my legs moved faster and I picked off one, two, three other runners. Too knackered to note my position or stop my watch, I found a spot to squat down and catch my breath.
According to the results online (http://www.oxonxc.org/), I came 82nd, in 39'17", and in doing so contributed to the club's first team retaining the top spot in the league.
I've never felt so completely hopeless or clueless in sport, but I've also never had such an acute sense of achievement. I still have a lot to lean about cross country running, and in the bargain I know I have a lot to learn about myself. What a wonderful journey.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
1:30 is quite a bit
I got hold of the GATA results - Ian Mc did 1:30 on me, which is a fair gap, 18s per km! Which leaves me some work to do.
So with that in mind, I took my shoes to the office to get a bit of lunchtime training in. Truth be told, I've been a little lazy with training, just relying on my base fitness for good results, but being beaten by Ian, and wanting to get closer to the front at the next XC race, I think a bit of training might be a good idea.
So today was a nice half hour amble through the "woods" and past the fields close to the office. Though cold, it was a perfect day and made for a relaxing break in what was a rather crazy day. Anyhow, Bathurst and the hill up to the Toposcope call, which will make for some good hill training!
So with that in mind, I took my shoes to the office to get a bit of lunchtime training in. Truth be told, I've been a little lazy with training, just relying on my base fitness for good results, but being beaten by Ian, and wanting to get closer to the front at the next XC race, I think a bit of training might be a good idea.
So today was a nice half hour amble through the "woods" and past the fields close to the office. Though cold, it was a perfect day and made for a relaxing break in what was a rather crazy day. Anyhow, Bathurst and the hill up to the Toposcope call, which will make for some good hill training!
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
The final GATA
I can’t remember what GATA stands for, suffice to say that for some reason my brain always reads “Gator” and associates it rather furious and vicious activity. Effectively it is the second company running race series (the other being the running club’s Gallileo), set up (broadly speaking) as a competition between the Generation and the Trading businesses – or engineers vs. bean counters. Whatever it maybe, it is a fun and competitive, and a great place for me to gain experience.
So this was the finale, and after my recent performances I was billed as the favourite. That was until some dude named Ian Mc announced that he was going to take part. Now Ian, a top level club racer, is quite legendary for his speed. Excellent, a challenge!
It was a typically English autumn day; cold, damp and threatening to drizzle. I had a good warm up on the treadmill and then headed out to the start line, perhaps a little early. I stood around chatting and trying to stay warm, but soon enough the mob had arrived and we were just about ready to head off.
Once underway, I quickly worked out who Ian was; the skinny guy who seemed to skim along with effortless speed and was already pulling a gap after all of 15m. I shuffled in behind in and kept his pace. At first it was easy, but after a km or so he increased the pace and I started to struggle to keep up. Getting close to the red zone, I figured I’d slow a smidge and keep as close to him and my red line as possible.
So after that, the next 4-odd km was hell. I was hurting badly. My lungs were maxed out and were unable to take in any more oxygen. My legs were right on the edge too; I could feel the acids building up. Nudging my aerobic limits I watched as Ian gradually but surely opened a gap. At first I thought that I was again matching his pace, but slowly he pulled away.
Now the big challenge was all in my head; tap off for an easy 2nd, or keep pushing hard? I pushed. I noticed my shoelace had come loose, a good excuse to stop for a breath – but I rather chose to rely on the lace lock arrangement and press on. I was hurting, burning, but no way was I giving up.
The last few hundred metres of the route are very twisty and I had completely lost sight of Ian. By now I was rapidly filling my legs with lactic acid and greedily gulping every bit of air I could take in. I was flying. Through all the agony my stride felt effortless and I felt unstoppable. I think this is what athletes are addicted to – there really is nothing like it.
I crossed the line in 18:31.41 on my watch (the timekeepers had me at 18:29), easily a PB. I’m not sure what Ian did, but apparently he wasn’t that far ahead of me. It was a totally awesome run. I learnt so much about how far I can push, and how to pace myself. It was great to pick on “someone my own size”, if you know what I mean.
Afterward Ian admitted that I’d pushed him harder than he’d wanted to go, and that he was really hurting too. I took that as a great compliment.
I've put together a training program now, and look forward to Bathurst to get some good mileage in - can't wait for the Culham round of the XC series in the first week of December. 'Till then!
So this was the finale, and after my recent performances I was billed as the favourite. That was until some dude named Ian Mc announced that he was going to take part. Now Ian, a top level club racer, is quite legendary for his speed. Excellent, a challenge!
It was a typically English autumn day; cold, damp and threatening to drizzle. I had a good warm up on the treadmill and then headed out to the start line, perhaps a little early. I stood around chatting and trying to stay warm, but soon enough the mob had arrived and we were just about ready to head off.
Once underway, I quickly worked out who Ian was; the skinny guy who seemed to skim along with effortless speed and was already pulling a gap after all of 15m. I shuffled in behind in and kept his pace. At first it was easy, but after a km or so he increased the pace and I started to struggle to keep up. Getting close to the red zone, I figured I’d slow a smidge and keep as close to him and my red line as possible.
So after that, the next 4-odd km was hell. I was hurting badly. My lungs were maxed out and were unable to take in any more oxygen. My legs were right on the edge too; I could feel the acids building up. Nudging my aerobic limits I watched as Ian gradually but surely opened a gap. At first I thought that I was again matching his pace, but slowly he pulled away.
Now the big challenge was all in my head; tap off for an easy 2nd, or keep pushing hard? I pushed. I noticed my shoelace had come loose, a good excuse to stop for a breath – but I rather chose to rely on the lace lock arrangement and press on. I was hurting, burning, but no way was I giving up.
The last few hundred metres of the route are very twisty and I had completely lost sight of Ian. By now I was rapidly filling my legs with lactic acid and greedily gulping every bit of air I could take in. I was flying. Through all the agony my stride felt effortless and I felt unstoppable. I think this is what athletes are addicted to – there really is nothing like it.
I crossed the line in 18:31.41 on my watch (the timekeepers had me at 18:29), easily a PB. I’m not sure what Ian did, but apparently he wasn’t that far ahead of me. It was a totally awesome run. I learnt so much about how far I can push, and how to pace myself. It was great to pick on “someone my own size”, if you know what I mean.
Afterward Ian admitted that I’d pushed him harder than he’d wanted to go, and that he was really hurting too. I took that as a great compliment.
I've put together a training program now, and look forward to Bathurst to get some good mileage in - can't wait for the Culham round of the XC series in the first week of December. 'Till then!
Sunday, 4 November 2007
Oxford Mail XC: Ascott-under-Wychwood
I never quite understood why tennis players feel the need to make grunting noises until today.We started out from home at around 8:30 to catch the 8:47 train to Charlbury, in Oxfordshire; and with the early start both of us managed to forget to take our cameras. After a bit of tension resulting from my particular brand of rushing to make the train on time, the trip itself was calm and painless.
We arrived at Charlbury station bang on time, and emerged from the warm train into a particularly cold and foggy autumn morning in the Cotswolds. Riding in the murk seemed a bad idea, so we pedalled up to the town centre in search of some coffee. After a loop around the town, we found a nice little tea shop that served surprisingly good coffee and rich, airy croissants. The café faced onto what was, I guess, the High Street, though most of the buildings around the narrow lanes were homes. While we sat there a few locals wandered in to buy the paper, some staying for a cup of tea in the bargain – it had a really nice, warm atmosphere. Soon it was time to go and we rolled out of town into the morning.
It was still quite a bit foggy, but with lights I felt reasonably safe and visible. The road was very nice, rolling hills for the 6km over to Ascott-Under-Wychwood where the race would be held. We got there soon enough and I wandered around looking for Dorian (my manager) who’d given me the idea to try out this discipline and helped get my membership at Cirencester AC sorted out. Quickly enough I’d located him and was changed into my spotlessly clean new club kit.
All pre-race prep done, I found myself oddly bored waiting for the gun. It is odd; at a bike race at least you have your bike to nonchalantly languish on. But standing on your two feet, you do tend to feel a bit spare. Thankfully the wait wasn’t too long, and we were underway quite promptly. I was quite surprised at the level of jostling at the start – much like in a bike race, a fair amount of elbowing and pushing. Not making much progress in the bunch, I decided to go around the outside on the first two corners and made up some distance to get in touch with the quicker runners.
The 8.6km course was fairly challenging, a short loop uphill followed by a long rolling downhill to the bottom of the field (where on the 2nd and 3rd laps, we’d run through a water splash) and then up a long (I’d estimate 800m) uphill stretch back to the top of the hill.
I took the first lap (of three) too fast and I started to feel it on the downhill at the start of the second lap. And my right foot started to hurt me, partly as a result of the laces not being tight enough, but also I think from the fairly firm surface and lack of pronation control from my running spikes. I stopped to tighten the laces and continued; this more or less solving the problem - my foot still ached but didn’t get any worse. The icy splash wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it might be, but it did make the long climb that much more arduous.
By the start of the last lap I’d learnt a lot about this XC lark. It was clearly nothing like running on the road; much less rebound to help propel you, and the mud presenting its own challenge in just keeping upright. Which reminds me: 7mm spikes are nowhere near long enough; I’d better get some 9s and 12s for my next outing! But the learning was all good and will surely help me in future races.
On the last lap I concentrated on pacing myself so I could make the best of my apparent climbing advantage. I tried to hold position within reason and kept myself just out of the red on the way down to the bottom. At one point I thought to myself, “this isn’t hurting enough”, but I didn’t want to risk tipping myself over the edge, not yet confident in my ability to pace myself on the grass and mud, so I kept myself just under the red zone.
The hill came soon enough and here I felt comfortable. I opened the taps and soon took a few positions as I scrabbled my way up the now quite mushy slope. I had to be careful and look for grassy patches to make sure I got enough purchase to propel myself up the hill. Now it was hurting. I was going pretty well, and started sprinting about 50m out. I soon hit the red with every ounce of my being focussed on passing one last runner in a yellow vest as we headed for the line. Then I noticed it; I was making the most extraordinary noises – a bizarre cross between a yell and a grunt. It was like a primal war cry, and completely involuntary. I couldn’t stop it.
Then Yellow Vest started sprinting too, I assume spurred on by the sound of a wild animal on his heels, and it was just enough for him. He pipped me to the line where we shook hands.
Once I’d got my breath back, I remembered to stop my watch. The time was just under 37’, so I expect around 36’ – which I think is respectable for 8.6km and my first competitive XC outing. I have no idea where the leaders came in, but I would expect somewhere around 30’-31’. All in all, I was pretty happy with how it all worked out, and I definitely have more room for improvement.
I just had a look at the provisionals: 36'13", 84th out of 253 - just about 1/3 up the field. Chuffed. The leader (from our club) came in just under 30 mins.
A great day, and now looking forward to the next race, 2 December I believe. Can't wait!
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