What Not to Do With a Relay Baton!

Tiptree's Paul Dellar speeds past Cromer pier.

ONE day – possibly years from now – a beachcomber with metal detector will make a strange and unexpected discovery along the coast just east of Wells-next-the-Sea.

The high-pitched beeps from his machine will lead to a hollow cylindrical object, around nine inches long, made of light metal and coloured yellow.  A few minutes of internet research will probably lead the finder to deduce that this is a relay baton once attached to the hand of a runner in the annual Round Norfolk Relay.

Having plucked the stray baton from deep in the moist sandy mud, there'll be no need for him or her to worry that the remains of the runner are also in the vicinity.  For I am happy to report the athlete in question is alive and well!  Not only that, he this week revealed to me the truth behind ‘The Mystery of the Missing Relay Baton.’

The runner was one of a record entry of around 1,000 who took part in last weekend’s 26^th annual Round Norfolk Relay. As a unique and colourful event (197 miles, lasting more than 28 hours), this event always produces some weird and wonderful stories after the whole show comes to an end in King’s Lynn. 

And it was after escorting my Tiptree clubmates safely around the course as part of our support team that I first heard the curious rumours about the runner from another club  sinking in quicksand, calling 999 on his mobile phone, and narrowly escaping with his life. As a trained newshound, my instincts of course led me to track down the runner in question this week!

Turns out his name is Craig Stephenson, an experienced athlete in his forties who runs for Garden City Striders. He was running Stage 4 (Wells to Cley) when disaster nearly struck last Saturday lunchtime.

This is how Craig reflected on what happened: “I had made great time to about mile 5 and was feeling fantastic, and to be honest not looking at my instructions as the RNR signs were good. I saw a runner in the distance who had appeared to have gone through an opening in the fence so I followed him. Shortly I got to a ploughed field and ran around it thinking the path had been recently ploughed, but then came to a 5-feet deep drainage ditch. 

"The bottom of the ditch only had a few inches of water and some gravel in it, and I could see that the path was just beyond a gate past the ditch, so I thought it would be a simple fix to go through the ditch and back on track. Unfortunately the ditch had about a foot of mud in it. I fell awkwardly on my back and my feet were properly stuck, and I realised I could be in trouble as I was completely hidden lying on my back. 

"My main worry was that I couldn't get up and that my mobile might drop in the water. As it happened my mobile had no signal anyway, but I could only get one hand free to use it and decided it best to call 999 before I attempted to remove myself as I knew even with no signal you could usually get through. If I had signal I would have called my support cyclist who was waiting a few miles away. 

"To get out I had to throw my mobile away on the grass verge, remove my shoes and crawl out. It was actually fairly easy, and the fire brigade telephone operator held on the line to make sure I was OK. At this point somewhere in Norfolk a bell was ringing in a fire station, but the operator swiftly cancelled the call and I had to reassure him I was OK. Unlike my instructions, which were ruined, and my baton, which was left in the murky depths! 

"I then managed to further my agony by getting a bit lost twice as I had no instructions, not that I was following them anyway. I was plastered in mud, and several people pointed me out as I ran through the next two towns. And stank. I ended up running a decent time, including my bog snorkelling attempt, and I arrived at the next stage where the cyclist had already told the next runner of my misfortune and loss of baton. I cleaned up in the sea at the changeover! A couple of stages later a kind official, Gordon,  provided us with his £2.99 bike pump to act as a makeshift baton!" 

Craig certainly seemed none the worse for wear for his experience and completed his run into Cley in a great time (1 hr 37 mins) in the circumstances, still quicker than 21 other teams.  As one of his fellow runners remarked: “That was one heroic run and a very decent pace after all that mud wrestling!”

Later on, messages from the travelling support teams were sent to the Richard Allinson Show being broadcast through the night on BBC Radio 2. Craig’s adventure in the mud and his misplaced baton got a couple of mentions on there, which were heard by a number of other RNR support vehicles who had their radios on. Craig’s face, previously stained brown, was by now rather red!

Although my Tiptree colleagues all ran superbly and registered the club's best time in four visits to the RNR, I’m pleased to say none of them needed medical attention or a call to the emergency services. Our man on Stage 10 (Sean) did suffer what we runners euphemistically call ‘stomach trouble’ - but as a hardened ultra-man he soon brushed this off. Luckily nobody offered him one of those bacon butties they conjure up at the Lighthouse café in Hunstanton.

With around 1,000 runners in action, the law of averages suggests that inevitably one or two are bound to come a cropper. I understand that Chas Allen of Norwich Road Runners collapsed in the road in the middle of the night during Stage 12 (Scole to Thetford) leading to his spending several hours in the West Suffolk General Hospital. Phil Bower and his Thetford AC colleagues, plus a female member of CONAC, were among those highly praised for their efforts in helping Chas reach hospital.

His colleague Ivan Colman was touched at how everyone rallied around to help Chas. Said Ivan: “He didn't mention anything about being unwell at the time we arrived [at Scole]. We arrived 15 minutes ahead of our incoming runner and gave him his number and chatted. He was up for it and we were the leading team. 

"Off he went, but after about eight miles he went down. End of race! But most importantly he's doing fine now although he had us all worried. His health was more important than anything, but the team did a great job and wanted to finish for him and ended up coming 3rd overall. This episode shows what makes this race a cut above the others – for it doesn't matter what club you represent everybody is prepared to help each other. What a family we have!”

The ‘family of runners’ of which Ivan so eloquently speaks included some rare characters, doing their thing amid a great atmosphere, helped by superb weather. Even in the deep, dark depths of rural Norfolk at 4 a.m. you could still see plenty of smiling faces.

Our own runner on Stage 14 (Feltwell to Wissington) typified the spirit of the event. Tara is a wedding planner, and her hectic work duties on the Saturday back in Essex lasted until long after midnight. But without hesitation she jumped straight in her boyfriend's car and came directly from work to the nearly-isolated wastes of West Norfolk to meet the incoming runner and take the Tiptree baton onwards to Stage 15.

An hour later the finish to Tara’s 7.27-mile stage saw her welcomed by little more than a dimly-lit sugar beet factory and a small cluster of people shivering at the roadside. Not only that, her grateful colleagues had to quickly whizz off into the distance to follow the next runner.  A hot drink, some friendly faces and a quick rub down with a rough towel would have been nice . . .  but no such luck in chilly Wissington at that time of the morning!

Among the other cheerful characters doing his bit at the RNR was musician Leo Altarelli, who runs for Bungay Black Dog RC.  Leo is one of many experienced runners for whom the RNR is a favourite event. He says:  “It was exciting to see the runners coming out of the shadows to hand their batons over to fresh-faced team mates ready to take on the challenge of running into the night. The atmosphere is electric, there is a buzz of nervous energy and a carnival feel to the whole thing.”

I’ll give the last word to Leo, via his excellent recording of his own song ‘Run and Become.’   Listen to it via this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yvUlNMw9Ro

PS: Congrats to RAY LINDSAY (Norwich Road Runners) on 20 appearances at the Round Norfolk Relay. Proof, if it were needed, that Luton Town supporters have great stamina and fortitude!

* Check out Rob Hadgraft’s books on running, at the website: www.robhadgraft.com

The Naked Truth About Norfolk!

This is the baton.  Make sure you don't drop it!

WHAT’S the most remarkable thing ever to come out of Norfolk?

Is it Colman’s mustard? Stephen Fry’s brain? Henry Blofeld’s wine cellar? Lord Nelson’s battle-plans? Bernard Matthews’ Turkey Twizzlers?

Many folk reckon it is none of those things, but is in fact the Round Norfolk Relay, a unique annual running event which sees more than 1,000 runners processing around the edge of this much-maligned county, nearly half their trek taking place under cover of darkness.

Having joined in for the last three years, I can confirm this event is 27 hours’ worth of pure mayhem.  For some it’s a little like childbirth, or maybe their first marathon: They fall into an exhausted heap and cry “never again” when it’s all over, but then find themselves coming back for more year after year.

Around 25 of us from Tiptree Road Runners are invading Norfolk across its southern borders this weekend, ready to do battle and armed with a big white van, a stopwatch, many snacks and a little stove for roadside brew-ups.  It will be one of those occasions when I forego my status as a (Clapped-Out) runner and join the ranks of the roadside helpers (or Support Team member, to use the proper terminology). I shall try and be cheerful and helpful, just like an Olympic ‘gamesmaker’, but without uniform or high chair .

Much as I love our chosen sport, I have no desire to go running in the pitch dark at 3 in the morning, accompanied by a chugging Transit van in second gear behind me, complete with flashing lights and a ‘Go Tiptree’ flag on its roof.

However, a number of my clubmates do relish surreal challenges like this, and I am happy to be part of the back-up team, looking on with amusement while devouring snacks and coffee from a short distance away.

As well as the strength and stamina needed to cover 197 miles in 17 continuous stages, clubs who take part need logistical skills, patience and luck to master this event. It’s rather more complex than your bog-standard road race and you have to beware the effects of sleep deprivation as you grind your way onwards after dark, through quiet communities sensibly asleep in their beds.

The route takes the 60 teams along the entire outer edge of the county of Norfolk. Large chunks are on the coast, others in sparsely-populated and remote countryside. Some areas are flat, deserted and downright spooky. Norfolk is not a place for strangers to get lost after dark. There’s the odd bit of heathland, and if you get a bit delirious with exhaustion, you may   imagine you just heard a werewolf’s distant howl. Don’t worry, it was probably just a weary race marshal shouting instructions.

After a quarter of a century organising this event, there was something of crisis recently when committee members decided they’d had enough, but thankfully new people  eventually came forward to man the barricades and save the race. And participants seem pleased to find these new faces have not made the event any easier or less complicated.

In the case of my Tiptree team, we have been instructed to start running at 7 on Saturday morning. This poses a few issues for ‘night owls’ like me, but fortunately we have ‘larks’ among our membership too, and have again appointed the husband-and-wife team of Anthony and Vicky to lead off on the first two stages.

For the 20-mile night stages later on, we are employing two new secret weapons in the shape of ultra-runner Sean and relative newcomer Andy, a recent hero of the Arc2Arch Paris-to-London run.  I suspect Andy will find the industrial estates of Thetford a little less exotic than Paris, although he will have a long stretch through the forest to look forward to.

Some of our early runners, who probably think they are in for a gentle scenic jog along coastal roads, have been warned about the hazards of running on shingle and also the wrinkly old nudists who sometimes come out of nowhere to watch them pass.

One female runner admitted the other day that during a previous run on Stage 3, an old chap from the local nudist beach came over and jogged alongside her for a while and struck up friendly conversation. He wasn’t wearing a stitch and was definitely not a fellow relay runner, because his wrinkled exterior bore no evidence of a number or a six-inch baton. After overcoming her initial surprise, one imagines the lady runner increased her speed to unprecedented levels!

All this makes me wonder whether they should put something in the race rules about 'averting your eyes' if approached in this way. However, Bedford runner Sarah assures me: “No averting here, I’m doing Stage 3, and will bring binoculars - these may be needed if it’s cold.”

Two male runners, Paul and Wayne, have done practise runs along this leg and have evidently already seen enough:  “I’m running Stage 3 this weekend and my head will be looking straight down,” said Wayne, with Paul adding: “I just kept concentrating on my running while my escort and other friend pointed out the sights.”

Beaches, sunshine and nudity will be the last thing on anybody’s mind when the race gets beyond Great Yarmouth at sundown, and the long haul back to King’s Lynn begins. But this apparently grim section is not as bad as you might think. If you don’t believe me, consider this poetic verdict given by Ian from Norfolk Gazelles:

“It's Stage 12 for the fourth consecutive year for me this weekend, and I just can't wait. There's something very special about running this 20-miler in the dead of night with the great camaraderie, atmosphere and almost mystical aura it generates. What a great occasion and celebration of runners united!  I'll be there again, homing in on those flashing lights ahead of me, like welcoming beacons, digging deep and never easing up until that all important baton is relinquished safely into the hands of my team mate. Bring it on!”

* Check out Rob Hadgraft’s published books on running at: www.robhadgraft.com

     

Doing it the Essex way . . . .

Some go hell for leather, others just jog . . . 

THE Essex Way relay.  It’s an 11-hour party held every September where more than 500 scantily-clad people traverse Essex on foot as fast as they can. They go from the county’s south-west corner to its north-east tip, a journey of 82 adventure-filled miles.

Some look upon it as a deadly serious athletic endeavour, desperate for victory and records, but the event’s founding fathers actively discourage anything that might be seen as elitism. There’s none of this nonsense about carrying a baton (as in a conventional relay), and nobody would bat an eyelid if you popped into a pub en route should you feel the need.

Unlike other races, Essex Way Relay etiquette requires runners to shout a friendly warning to their rivals who might accidentally go off-course. Yes, of course it’s tempting to chuckle and mutter "Serves the silly bugger right". But that’s not nice and it’s not the Essex way (excuse the pun).  No, you must save your cunning strategies and your gamesmanship for another day – leave all that for the cut-throat cross-country later in the year!

And, don’t forget, when your team finishes its glorious 82-mile trek, all are obliged to merrily stuff their faces with fish and chips on Harwich seafront. Presuming, that is, you are prepared to tolerate the enormous queue outside the West Street emporium known as ‘Pieseas Chippie.’

Last weekend your Clapped-Out Runner made his eighth appearance on the Essex Way, alarmed to find it was hot, humid and there were wild animals on the loose. The official starter of Stage 8, in the middle of the genteel chocolate-box village of Dedham, warned us to “beware of horses, cows and other things.”  What could he mean by “other things” we wondered?  Was the infamous Essex Lion still on the loose?

In fact one group of participants did actually transport a large cardboard cut-out of the ‘lion’ around the course. It raised smiles wherever it went, although Cuthbert (the canine associate of your Clapped-Out Runner), was not in the least amused when its appearance interrupted his sausage feast near the Harwich finish-line.

As if the dreaded high humidity wasn’t enough to subdue my own running, the presence of a ‘shadow’ runner certainly made life interesting as I made my way across the eight-mile section to Bradfield.  Whether by accident or design, this fellow carried no route instructions and had not done a ‘recce’ beforehand. He therefore stuck to my shoulder, candidly admitting at one point he was using me as a guide. Now I know what they feel like in those Paralympic races for partially-sighted runners. All that was missing was the rope.  

In the spirit of the Essex Way Relay, I didn’t object, and even held open innumerable gates for him en route. Sadly the going was too tough to consider accelerating off into the distance, but what I didn’t expect, after eight miles of shadowing, was for the blighter to suddenly sprint past as we finally came upon the finish line. Perhaps he was expecting a race. He didn’t get one. That’ll teach him.

But my travails in the muggy heat of Britain’s driest region were nothing compared to some. Club colleague Sean Ketteridge had set out to break his own record for running the entire Essex Way solo in one go. His form and fitness suggested he could take a big chunk off his previous mark (13hrs 58mins), but unfortunately he felt unwell before halfway and quit at Cressing (he still managed an impressive 37 miles in a little over five hours). Sean is an experienced ultra-runner (ask his ultra-dog Murphy if you don’t believe me) and this was apparently the first time he’d ever been forced to bail out of a race, perhaps underlining how deceptively hot it was. No doubt he’ll be back for another crack.

Having to post a ‘DNF’ is bad enough for any runner, but even worse was to befall Harwich Runners’ Richard Newman, who collapsed towards the end of the 9.4–mile Cressing to Great Tey section. To their credit many runners stopped to help, and before long Harwich team organiser Peter Gooding and a doctor who runs for the club were both on the scene too.

An ambulance was called for, but couldn’t get close to Richard, who had hit the ground some distance from the nearest road, and so the Air Ambulance was summoned. Peter told me: “A farmer very kindly transported them and their equipment across the field to where Richard was. After about 90 minutes the farmer then moved him to the road to be taken to Colchester hospital. One good thing to come out of all this is the fact that runners can be such wonderful people. So many stopped and offered help and have since asked how he is. Amazing.”

One of the ‘Good Samaritans’ was a Harwich runner leading the race at the time, who sacrificed her potential victory by stopping to help.  According to Richard’s wife, the doctors ruled out a heart attack, and were carrying out other tests to find the cause of his trouble.  As of Tuesday he was still in hospital, and of course we all wish a speedy and complete recovery. He’s a consistent runner with a recent marathon PB of around 3:20 (Berlin),  who runs 5k in well under 20 minutes, so being halted in his tracks in this way will have been quite a shock.

My own club, the small but perfectly-formed Tiptree Road Runners, managed to get three full teams out (30 runners) which means we again had 50 per cent of our membership in a single race.  Even the Springfield Striders supremo Kevin Wright was impressed. His own outfit had a modest nine teams (90 runners) in action, but that represents ‘only’ about 30 per cent of their membership!

The Essex Way itself (a waymarked path from Epping rail station to Harwich lighthouse) was conceived in 1972 by the Campaign to Protect Rural England. The idea of a relay run along it was born in 1989 thanks to Thurrock Nomads, in partnership with John Good.  In 2000, Fergie McKenna's determination and sheer bloody-mindedness helped rescue the event from the abyss when John quit. Nowadays it is truly ‘the people’s race’, with organisation  taken over jointly by various clubs in Essex,  each responsible for a different stage.  At Robert Teer's instigation all ten stages were re-written in narrative form and it has gone from strength to strength alongside the boom in Essex trail running.  

The ethos of the event is perhaps best summed up by Robert, who was once asked about the idea of compiling detailed stats so that runners could have a crack at setting stage records each year:  “Personally I would counsel against going down that route,” he replied. “It could send a signal the Relay - characterised by simplicity, inclusivity and atmosphere - may be heading in an elitist direction. This was one of the factors which almost led to its demise in 2000. Apart from creating another layer of administration, records would be meaningless since course and weather conditions vary from year to year. Anyone bothered about times just needs to wear a watch!”

* Check out Rob Hadgraft’s published books on running, at www.robhadgraft.com

Breakfast is for wimps!

Who needs a 'full English' on a Saturday when you could be doing this?

EVERY Saturday morning across the UK, when most ordinary folk are still making a bleary-eyed choice between Coco Pops and Shredded Wheat, thousands of runners can be found out in the fresh air in their local parks, tackling free-to-enter 5k races.

Apart from a few dog walkers, the public at large has barely noticed Parkrun events, even though nearly 150 of them now take place every Saturday breakfast time, in towns and cities up and down the country.   

The Parkrun project was launched in 2004, and after eight years there is finally to be a local event staged weekly for the runners of Suffolk and Essex. On Saturday September 8, Chantry Park in Ipswich joins the Parkrun craze, thanks to some noble volunteer organizers from the local Ipswich JAFFA club.

JAFFA are ready to welcome all and sundry – be you clubbed-up or unattached, fast or slow, male or female, teenager or pensioner - for the inaugural event, bright and early at 9 a.m.    

Until now, two of my Top Ten Running Complaints have been the spiralling cost of race entry fees, and the fact there were no Parkrun events within a reasonable distance of home.  Now, all that is history. They are here and they are free.  

They are accurately timed on measured courses and, being weekly, provide a great opportunity to monitor training progress over a period, set goals and compare performances. But you don’t have to take them too seriously if you don’t want to – they can be merely a good way of getting exercise early in the weekend thus leaving time for other stuff.

Having been a member of Ipswich JAFFA back in the 20^th century, your Clapped-Out Runner can vouch for the club’s powers of organisation and resourcefulness. This, after all, is the club that used to transport its members to races via its own double-decker bus.  It didn’t get them up and down the A12 particularly quickly, but it was more comfortable than car-sharing!

And naturally most of the JAFFA boys and girls know Chantry Park like the back of their hand.  Back in my Ipswich days there were regular events there, including Sri Chinmoy races over a one-mile loop, also usually held early on a Saturday.

Your Clapped-Out Runner was young and foolish back then, and I recall more than once running a Sri Chinmoy race in Chantry Park before leaping into the car to head off elsewhere for a cross-country league event or road race. I’ve already promised my ageing legs that in 2012 there will be no such repeat involving Parkrun.

Once upon a time I even WON a race in Chantry Park one misty Saturday morning! OK, so some of Ipswich’s top runners failed to show that day, but you can only beat those who turn up, can you not? 

I also recall several outings at that venue, clutching my trusty reporter’s notebook (computers hadn’t arrived back then, let alone Twitter!), when I had to compile race reports as the likes of Dave Moorcroft and Tim Hutchings hurtled to victory in championship cross-country events. And I should also mention the day when my ‘ex’ Beverley gave Zola Budd a good chasing around the park. Bev was attempting to obtain an exclusive story for the Ipswich Evening Star, and not merely trying to outrun Zola, I hasten to add. Bev was fast in those days, but Zola proved a slippery customer even though she was only doing a warm-up jog at the time.  When finally cornered, the shy Miss Budd had little to say for herself as I recall!

There was also a rather bizarre occasion in Chantry Park when myself and colleagues from the East Anglian Daily Times took part in a charity football match against a so-called ‘All-Star XI’ featuring ex-Ipswich Town players such as Roger Osborne, Mick Lambert and Colin Harper.  A large crowd turned up (enough to fill both touchlines anyway) and we all looked very smart in the sunshine in our borrowed Ipswich Town kit. There was only one problem:  Nobody had thought to bring a ball.

Luckily I was able to come to the rescue and a bit of rummaging in the back of the car yielded a battered leather spherical object. OK, so it was soft, flat and possibly not even regulation size 5, but it would have to do. Fortunately the car boot also housed a bicycle pump, and so followed the truly surreal sight of former First Division full-back Colin Harper trying to inflate my ancient football with a malfunctioning pump. It took him a while but he managed it, and finally it was "Game on!"   Yes, things usually turn out fine in Chantry Park.

Getting back to Parkrun . . . if you were wondering how come the races will be free to enter, the answer is in the generous sponsorship from Adidas, Lucozade, Virgin London Marathon and Sweatshop.  Their investment follows the successful growth of the project since its  beginnings in West London when a runner called Paul Sinton-Hewitt and 12 of his mates got things underway in 2004. Eight years later there have been more than 11,000 runs staged, featuring a total of 200,000 runners.  

All you have to do is register beforehand on the Parkrun website, and print off your special barcode. Then you can do as few or as many of the 5ks as you choose.  As a spokesman said: “Parkruns take place all over the world, open to everyone, free, and safe and easy to take part in. They are in pleasant parkland surroundings and for people of every ability to take part - from those taking their first steps in running to Olympians, from juniors to those with experience.”

Now and again the great and the good take part alongside the humblebums like you and me. Swimmer Mark Spitz and Olympic hurdler Ed Moses once pitched up at a Parkrun, and on the eve of his 101st birthday, marathon man Fauja Singh was even seen doing his Saturday morning duty.   

If racing at 9 a.m. is not too early in the day for a 101-year-old, then I’m sure I can manage an outing or two in the coming months . . . .

* Check out Rob Hadgraft’s published books on running at www.robhadgraft.com

The Hills are Alive With the Sound of MP3s

WHEN your Clapped-Out Runner was a tiny lad, there was a thing called the ‘Hit Parade’ and every week we would all be glued to Top of the Pops on TV to find out who'd got into it.

In those days groups needed to sell hundreds of thousands of little vinyl discs to even make the Top 30, let alone the No.1 spot.  How times change.  These days a TV soap star only has to break wind remotely tunefully to find themselves soaring to the top of the charts.

Therefore it’s not surprising to hear that performers, young and old, who took part in the opening and closing ceremonies at the Olympics are quickly reaping the rewards of their high profile appearances. It’s been reported that no fewer than 65 musicians associated with London 2012 now feature in this week’s Top-200 singles chart.

The musical directors of London 2012 had the tricky task of choosing music to appeal to all ages and backgrounds, and for the most part they did a pretty good job. And this week’s sales figures prove that many of the tunes they gave us are being added to personal playlists in high numbers. Schoolkids are apparently lapping up the likes of Ray Davies and The Who. Who would have thought it?

Some of the songs that hit the night air above the Stratford stadium will have been identified as ’inspirational’ or ‘motivational’ and downloaded to the MP3 players of many runners.  

Running to music is big these days, I am told. Your Clapped-Out Runner only ever indulges when a treadmill is involved, but elsewhere there is a growing subculture of runners who wouldn't dream of taking a single step without their motivating playlists. I haven’t noticed this phenomenon at my own club, Tiptree Road Runners, but perhaps that’s because we’re a bit old fashioned and like chatting too much.

A while ago the governing bodies of the sport introduced rules and regulations to discourage the use of personal headphones in races. Their reasoning was that a runner cannot be safe on the roads if unable to properly hear traffic or marshal instructions and suchlike. But this idea has not gone down well in all quarters, of course.

Elite or ‘traditionalist’ runners don't seem to need external stimuli to overcome what some must perceive as the drudgery of running. In the case of your Clapped-Out Runner, I must have unusually shaped ears or something, for those little earpieces fall out after a few seconds anyway - even if I’m standing perfectly still. Therefore, having never used a Walkman or MP3 player for running, I’ve consequently never missed being without one. I like to carry as little baggage as possible when on the move – and certainly don’t fancy little wires dangling around the neck area.

Having said that, I do see the appeal of having a set of speakers positioned near your treadmill, or the idea of listening to upbeat music on your way to a race.  One of these days I might even get round to making a CD of favourite running tracks for that very purpose. In the mean time, I’ve tried to come up with a Top 30 anyway, and for your delight and delectation I present it here.

There’s some decidedly ‘uncool’ names on the list, but now that the Olympics has turned the youth of today on to acts dating back as far as the 1960s, I need have no shame in revealing a list with a decidedly ‘old school’ bias. No hip-hop here, I’m afraid.

The Clapped-Out Runner’s Top 30 Running Tracks:

1. Life of Riley- Lightning Seeds  
             (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boPhDRug_SQ)

2. Run Run Run – Jo Jo Gunne

3. The Runner – Manfred Mann’s Earth Band

4. Gotta See Jane – Golden Earring

5. Rendezvous 4 – Jean-Michel Jarre

6. Echo Beach – Martha and the Muffins

7. The Trap (London Marathon theme tune)

8. Running Man – Jimmy Nail

9. The Passenger – Iggy Pop

10. He’s Gonna Step on You Again – John Kongos

11. The River – King Trigger

12. Streets Have No Name (medley) – Pet Shop Boys

13. The Heat Is On – Glenn Frey

14. History of Modern - Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

15. Marathon Man – Ian Brown

16. Run for Home – Lindisfarne

17. I Ran (So Far Away) – Flock of Seagulls

18. Start Me Up – Rolling Stones

19. Ride Like The Wind – Saxon

20. Roadrunner – Chris Spedding

21. Running Down a Dream – Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

22. Blue Hotel – Lene Lovich

23. Here Comes a City – The Go-Betweens

24. Keep On Running – Spencer Davis Group

25. Born to Run – Bruce Springsteen

26. Bohemian Like You – Dandy Warhols

27. The Summer Place – Fountains of Wayne

28. (When I Kiss You) I Hear Charlie Parker Playing - Sparks

29. Norfolk Coast - Stranglers

30. Fall of Rome – James Reyne

(Check out Rob Hadgraft’s published books at www.robhadgraft.com)

It's Their Party, They'll Cry if They Want to . . .

The Olympic Park this week: Perhaps hay fever is causing some of the tears?

PERHAPS Paula Radcliffe and her gammy foot are to blame?

Or, to be more precise, Paula and her tear ducts?  When she withdrew from the Olympics a few days before the marathon took place, she told the nation she’d been “crying more tears than ever”.  She’d lost the battle against osteoarthritis in her left foot, a long-term problem that cruelly flared up just a few weeks before the Olympics.

She would have no glorious farewell on the streets of London and no first medal in her fifth appearance at an Olympics. The nation’s most popular athlete was sobbing miserably again – and this time it really did open the floodgates everywhere.

Since then a veritable tsunami of tears and emotions has washed round every Olympic venue and seeped into all corners of the UK.  People have cried over success, cried over failure and cried for just about everything between.

TV and radio have lapped it all up, commentators and pundits happy to spend hours chattering  about emotion, atmosphere, goose bumps, lumps in throats, hairs on their necks, and tears on their cheeks. Now and again they even reverted to analysing the sporting action itself.

There’s no denying that many moments during London 2012 have brought a lump to all our throats and shivers to even the stiffest of spines. But it’s fascinating how this particular Olympics has become ‘The Crying Games’, the one when stiff upper lips and holding-it-together went right out of the window. 

It started with Paula and has spread like a virus. Young competitors who exceeded expectations and put in superb performances have queued up to tell the BBC how gutted they are to have “let people down” by not winning gold. Until now I can’t recall ever hearing a sportsperson go on live TV and almost beg forgiveness for letting people down. Apart from Paula after the Athens Olympics, that is. (I told you this was all her fault!).

Radio 5 Live have been particularly guilty of majoring on ‘emotion’ rather than the sport itself. Many of their presenters are not sports specialists, suggesting the general brief was to go out and get ‘colour’ rather than just the dry facts. The classic example has been the shrieking Victoria Derbyshire, who to her credit was at least prepared to read out texts and e-mails  complaining about her “toe-curlingly embarrassing” performances!

These days, of course, it has become crystal clear the TV cameras are desperate for close-ups of any person undergoing triumph or disaster (all that rubbish reality TV depends on it, of course).  And at these Crying Games, the heroes, heroines and even the also-rans have latched on to a uniform method of coping with Kipling’s twin imposters: even before they are being interviewed they have often dissolved into tears.

Earlier this week I was at the Olympic Park and witnessed a remarkable Norway comeback to beat Brazil in the women’s handball quarter-finals. Six goals behind in the second-half, they rallied in the late stages to pip the South Americans in dramatic fashion. I’m mighty glad the Norge cowbells in the row behind me weren’t being rung by Jeremy Hunt. The end of the match signalled – you guessed it – agonised sobbing from the Brazilians, and joyful tears from the Scandinavians.

One observer reckoned this week we are now in the age of the new emotionalism, where it’s not only acceptable but almost compulsory to let it all hang out and give free rein to innermost feelings.  It was reported that every single member of the British women’s hockey team was in tears following defeat by Argentina (‘Don’t cry for us, Argentina – we can do it for ourselves!’) Once upon a time you’d get the odd solo cry - as per Gazza in 1990 - but now they’re doing it mob-handed.

Nevertheless, the likes of TV's Clare Balding, Michael Johnson and Gary Lineker have largely kept their feelings under control but without becoming boring. But some of the less professional interviewers have crumbled – even to the extent of creating strange silences while they try and pull themselves together.  Sometimes it has been highly amusing, as when equestrian expert Pippa Funnell regularly ignored questions from her co-commentator because she was so intensely focussed on the action, choking back tears and seemingly having lost the power of speech.

It’s been an Olympics of extremes that has provoked extreme reactions - sometimes from unlikely sources.  Even laddish footballers have been swept up by it all and lost their cool. For example, Don Hutchinson, former Liverpool international, said of one athletics session: “Without a doubt the best sporting event I've ever been to in my life. Forget football, this was electric.”

On the final evening of festivities this Sunday we’ll all have a lump in our throats as we realise how proud we are of London for staging the best-ever Games. But come Monday there’s a danger we’ll be all cried out and slumped under a grey cloud of anti-climax.  It will probably hit home when we turn on the TV that evening and find Syria and the economy are the lead stories on the news again.    

For the very last day of the Games I’ve managed to get tickets for the mountain biking, which is being staged here in good old Essex. However impressive the action turns out to be, I promise not to cry. Mind you, if there’s traffic congestion outside, or they sell out of Magnums, I may stamp my foot a little . . .

* Check out Rob Hadgraft’s published books on running and football at www.robhadgraft.com 

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Winning Olympic gold - thanks to strychnine and brandy!

A London Marathon banana - the clean athlete's stimulant of choice!

PEOPLE will do all sorts of things to win an Olympic medal in 2012. Some deliberately hit shuttlecocks into a net, some fall off their racing bike on purpose, others grow ridiculous sideburns.  Some tricks work, others don’t.

Nothing changes really.  A hundred years ago athletes also went to bizarre lengths to gain an advantage. Back then marathon runners took sips of strychnine, Champagne or white wine, glugged meaty Oxo drinks, and carefully clutched little corks in their hands to maintain concentration.

And who are we to laugh?  After all, it worked for Tommy Hicks!

Born in England, Hicks emigrated to the USA where he became a brass worker with a penchant for distance running. Aged 29 he won a remarkable marathon at the 1904 Olympics at St.Louis.  Conditions were awful, the course a rough dirt track enveloped by huge clouds of dust from support vehicles.

Hicks wasn’t even first to cross the finish-line, trailing behind a suspiciously fresh-looking Fred Lorz.  It would transpire that mischievous Fred had abandoned the race after only nine miles, at which point he hitched a lift in a car to the 20-mile point. When race officials told him his little ruse had been spotted and threw him out, he pleaded that it had only been a joke. Perhaps not the strongest of mitigating circumstances.

So Hicks was given the gold medal, but in view of what emerged later, perhaps he too should have been disqualified. To keep him plodding towards the finish, Hicks’ trusty assistants regularly supplied the type of thing Dennis Thatcher would later describe as a ‘livener.’  In Hicks case it involved a one-milligram grain of strychnine and some brandy. The first dose of strychnine seemed to give him a temporary boost, but after he started flagging again, he was given more of the same. It did the trick, but led to his collapse after crossing the finish line. It was good job nobody thought of giving him a third dose, said one doctor, for that might well have killed him.

The 1908 Marathon at the first London Olympics was staged in stifling heat and high humidity, which meant the runners were even more desperate than usual for any artificial aids their helpers could supply.

Fifty-five men from 16 nations lined up for the start outside the royal nursery at Windsor Castle Wing by special request of Princess Mary, who wanted her little boys to have the best view. Temperatures hovered around 26 degrees and runners soon began dropping like flies. Even the powerful Onondagan Indian known as Longboat wilted at the roadside. All manner of goodies were passed to the runners to help keep them upright, some of which worked and some evidently didn’t.

The likes of Gatorade and other sports drinks were still many decades away, of course, and simply drinking water was not regarded as a useful pursuit. The little Italian pastry chef Dorando Pietri was plied with his favourite Chianti wine, the supply continuing even after he started to wobble around the road. 

English-born runner Charlie Hefferon (S.Africa),  meanwhile, slaked his thirst with what he called “a draught of champagne” but admitted later it brought on severe stomach cramps and ruined his chance of victory after having led for most of the second half of the race.  American Johnny Hayes knew the hazards of fizzy drinks, and sipped happily on some brandy instead. He was given water but used it to wipe his face and didn’t drink a drop.

Little Pietri was first into the stadium, but four agonised and dramatic collapses on the cinder track, and the assistance he consequently received to cross the finish line, saw him disqualified. This was much to the dismay of the sympathetic British crowd and a horrified Queen Alexandra up in the royal box. It would make Pietri the most famous and courageous loser in Olympic history, but he was too exhausted and too drunk to notice as he was carted off on a stretcher. His consolation came later when Irving Berlin wrote a song about him and he was feted more than the actual winner.

It was reported that Pietri had been given a hypodermic of digitalis or strychnine just before he entered the stadium by a concerned physician who thought he was being helpful. No wonder he looked wobbly!

Boosted by his discreet brandy-sipping, Johnny Hayes cruised into the stadium 30 seconds later. He was subsequently and rather grudgingly given the gold medal by the British officials who’d spent almost the entire games in bad-tempered dispute with the American delegation.

All these years later we assume no performance-enhancing (or even performance-damaging) substances will be passed to the marathon runners at London 2012.  However, it is a fact that such behaviour is as old as the  Olympic Games themselves. From 776 BC athletes routinely boosted performance with hallucinogenic mushrooms, plants and mixtures of wine and herbs. Right through to 1928, when doping was officially outlawed, all sorts of potions were in use, with each nation trying to cook up their own secret formula.

More recently, of course, the cheats use the latest biotechnology. The drugs of choice have ranged from anabolic steroids to human growth hormones and from blood-boosting erythropoietin (EPO) to stimulants.  

Down here at the sharp end, your Clapped-Out Runner continues to use nothing more sinister than coffee, bananas and the occasional Jaffa cake on race day. They make me feel a bit livelier and get me to the finish line, although I have to report that they don’t prevent me occasionally getting lost in trail races.

A wrong turn in the Mid-Essex Casuals event from Hatfield Peverel last weekend saw me lose 15 minutes and become totally lost in a wood. It was a good effort, but not quite as impressive as that of my club colleague James H-J, whose recent run at the Fairlands Valley Spartans 50k Challenge was accidentally extended by a massive FIVE MILES due to a navigational mishap.

As a result of episodes like this, our club (Tiptree Road Runners) is seriously considering a new annual award for 'Wrong Turn of the Year’.  I regard this as a worrying development, because I suspect some people actually enjoy the drama of getting lost - and the incentive of winning a trophy for going wrong might see a sharp increase in our runners going missing mid-race. 

Surely if there’s going to be any cheating, it might be better to copy our forefathers and stick to the old roadside alcohol trick.  Champagne anyone?     

* Check out Rob Hadgraft’s published books on running, at www.robhadgraft.com