Races filling up fast, but Shawn is creating his own!



* Shawn Leek (left) and friends . . . sporrans at the ready!

I’VE yet to hear any convincing reasons why it’s happening, but the world of the East Anglian citizen runner has been changing fast lately.

On the face of it, we appear to be experiencing another running boom. Races seem to be filling up to capacity long before the day of the actual event, 5k Parkruns in various towns are pulling in record-sized fields week after week, and clubs such as my own are reporting highest-ever membership levels.

This weekend, I am told, the Brentwood Half-marathon is full and not accepting entries. Likewise, the Stowmarket Half-marathon is up to capacity. The Woodbridge 10k entry list filled up within three-and-a-half-hours of opening, and the Sudbury 5-mile Fun Run stopped taking entries more than six weeks before race day!

To be a runner around here these days you need to be more than just fleet of foot and possessed of good stamina. Evidently you also need to be quick off the mark and well-organised when it comes to planning your calendar.

Over the years I’ve mostly preferred the flexibility of choosing my races quite late in the day – say a week or two in advance - but this is becoming increasingly difficult.

One way to avoid the rush is to steer clear of popular events and simply make your own fun! That’s exactly what Shawn Leek of Great Bentley Running Club is doing this spring.

Next month Shawn plans to run seven marathons in seven days, six of them ‘solo’ affairs, ending with the Virgin London Marathon on April 26. He hopes his strenuous week will raise a hefty five-figure sum for the St.Helena Hospice in Colchester.

Forty-year-old Shawn has done a few ultras in his time, but admits his project of attempting 182 miles in just one week looks suspiciously like he’s having a mid-life crisis.

He will start on Monday April 20 from the St.Helena Hospice itself and run a 26-mile route to Ipswich town centre. Next day he’s off to Bungay and this is followed by marathons in Cambridgeshire on the Wednesday, Bedfordshire on the Thursday and Bishop’s Stortford on the Saturday, before joining the 30,000 throng in London on the seventh day.

Engineer and family man Shawn has been a runner for 10 years but has never attempted anything quite like this before. He’s hoping local runners will volunteer to turn up during his first six jaunts to run alongside and help keep his spirits up and encourage him along the road for a while. If you fancy this, e-mail him now at shawnleek@hotmail.com

He’s been training hard in preparation, including a time of 2hrs 44mins at the tough Tarpley 20-miler near Bury St.Edmunds and on March 29 will run from his home to the start of the Colchester Half-marathon, do the race and then run home again.

He admits to struggling with pacing during all this training. He wants to run the seven marathons at 9:30 per mile pace, but that is far slower than his normal race pace. Consuming food and drink on the run has also been a problem, and he’s been experimenting with chewy energy bars, sweets, jam sandwiches and wholemeal rolls filled with banana and honey.

Those of us who know somebody cared for at the Colchester hospice wish him the best of luck for next month!

(* Rob Hadgraft’s published books on running and football available at:  http://amzn.to/1C2BjUK )

Runner caught red-handed!

Heard the song about the man with the 'Red Right Hand'?

YOU know you’re getting old when you can’t even be trusted to go for a simple training run without falling over.

When you start stubbing your toe on the relatively flat Wivenhoe Trail, where stones only protrude upwards half-an-inch or so, you know it’s time you started picking your feet up when out perambulating.

Three times I hit the deck in spectacular fashion during the recent cross-country season, but that was on soft terrain. This latest coming together with Mother Earth was a harder and more bloody affair, I’m afraid.

But what was most interesting about it was the reaction of passers-by (luckily few in number in view of the high embarrassment factor).

One female runner, evidently an Essex University student of foreign extraction, sailed on past without a word, occasionally stopping to take pictures of the adjacent river view. She’d seen the whole thing but was not at all concerned, and not even fazed by the blood pumping out of my right hand.

Well, perhaps ‘pumping’ is a slight exaggeration, but it was certainly seeping fast. In Tony Hancock terms, it was probably a good arm-full.  

The next reaction was the polar opposite of the first. Further along the slow run home, two more young people hove into view, again speaking in foreign tongue, but this time rooted to the spot with horror. They couldn’t even bring themselves to step aside and let me pass without difficulty.

By this time I was running normally again, but holding my right arm high in the air - I’ve heard if you hold a bleeding wound above the level of your heart, gravity will help stem the flow. Trouble is, this body-shape makes it look as if you are deliberately displaying your injury for the world to see.

Aussie troubadour Nick Cave has a song about the man with the ‘Red Right Hand’, and it was this tune I hummed as I headed home. Perhaps it was no wonder my second batch of spectators looked so startled.

It was only this week that a number of my clubmates at Tiptree Road Runners returned from one of the UK’s most gruelling mass participation races, the 20-mile ‘Grizzly’ in Devon. Some were on their feet for more than five hours that day, yet for the most part seem to have coped without crashing to the ground and tearing flesh. Perhaps they were more focussed on their task than me on my relatively gentle sortie.  

Mind you, I should point out that some of them did finish the Grizzly in a state of intense emotional fragility. Shedding tears rather than blood was our Louise H, for example. Tears of relief and pride, I suspect, rather than tears of pain as she fell into the congratulatory arms of colleague John McV at the finish line.

Now that the cross-country season is over and the Grizzly’s been and gone, there should be far less mud to encounter in forthcoming fixtures. That sadly means fewer soft landings for the habitual tumblers like me . . . .

* Rob Hadgraft's books on running legends of yesteryear are on sale via this Amazon link:

http://amzn.to/1C2BjUK

  

Shrubb blossoms in Chelmsford!

ALF SHRUBB . . . so good they made him race against horses!

GOOD to see the running scene thriving in my local city of Chelmsford these days. On Saturday mornings a remarkable 400-plus get stuck into the weekly 5k Parkrun, numbers seemingly rising on a weekly basis. Next weekend the newly-established EAN 10k race takes place, there's a new city marathon, and the cross-country and trail scene are prospering too.

Chelmsford has a rich running history of course. Back in the day, not only did wee Sydney Wooderson smash the British mile record on a field beside Roxwell Road, but the legendary Alf Shrubb regularly collected records and trophies galore at the annual New Writtle Street athletics bash.

After I published a biography of Shrubb in 2004*, there was a sniff of interest from film-makers about the story. Nothing came of that, but now, nearly 11 years later, a second company has emerged wanting to make a documentary about the forgotten hero of Edwardian sport. Fact Not Fiction Films, based in Sussex, announced their Shrubb project a few days ago and I’m delighted to be assisting.

When researching Shrubb, I was fascinated to find his breakthrough victory, the race that made the nation sit up and take notice of him, came in 1900 here in Chelmsford. 

The annual Essex athletics and cycling championships at the New Writtle Street cricket ground was regarded at the time as the most prestigious meeting in the UK. Up for grabs was the huge new 50 guinea Atalanta Cup, which, along with a gold watch, went to the winner of the three-mile track race.

Shrubb was still very much a beginner in 1900, having only joined Horsham Blue Star club months earlier. He’d been ‘discovered’ while galloping along a country lane in boots chasing the local fire wagon!

He didn’t really have a clue about his chances in the big Chelmsford race, although somebody did tip him the wink that he’d be helped by the unexpected absence of Sid Robinson, Olympic medallist and English steeplechase champion.

Shrubb had never been to Essex before and was astonished as he made his way across Chelmsford on foot from the station. These locals certainly knew how to stage a day of sport. The station and streets were decorated with flags of all nations and bunting, the railway arch in New Street bedecked by a huge ‘welcome’ banner. Flowers and flags adorned the cricket ground and the grass track was lined with Venetian masts, supportings lines of flags. A ‘grand illuminated fairy fete’ was taking place in the Bishop of Colchester’s grounds over the road, plus a fireworks display and ‘Baden Baden’ concert. The Countess of Essex was there to present prizes. She arrived by train to be met by a four-in-hand carriage which processed through Chelmsford with crowds cheering and doffing their caps at this glamorous celebrity.

Spanish grandees Prince Leopold and Princess Marie de Croy-Solre were at the ground too, guests of a local businessman. The hullaballoo and atmosphere made Shrubb highly nervous, but he was desperate to do well having never before travelled this far from home to run.

Despite his butterflies and knocking knees, he was glad when the three-mile race finally got underway, taking off smartly and forging a substantial early lead. He cut such a fast early pace that a world record on grass looked possible. He steadied himself just past halfway, however, and won at a canter, breasting the tape in 15 mins 05.6 secs, his nearest opponent – Wellin of Essex Beagles – 150 yards adrift.

Being 1900, there were no female athletes in action, and at the prize-giving the Countess of Essex announced: “As on the occasion of the Olympian Games of old, what is called the superior sex is in force here today and we women are here to admire you, and look on and stimulate you for fresh exercises for other years. It is only at these gatherings at Chelmsford that we see sport of this kind – which beats all other kinds in the country.”

Little Shrubb stepped up to accept the huge Atalanta trophy, almost collapsing under its weight. He confessed later his first thought was how on earth he’d get home with such a massive vessel. Somehow he made it though, and on disembarking in Sussex, was greeted by a crowd of supporters who’d heard news of his great victory at Chelmsford. He was carried shoulder high like a returning hero, all the way to the pub which served as the Blue Star club’s HQ.  It proved to be a long and lively session!

  

*      To check out Rob Hadgraft’s books on running legends of yesteryear, use this link: http://amzn.to/1C2BjUK or visit www.robhadgraft.com

Did this sort of thing really happen in our sport?

THE more you look at the picture above, the more shocking it seems.

Runner No. 261, the one they are attempting to kick off the road, is K.Switzer - a bona fide member of Syracuse Harriers. She's paid her entry fee, done her training, and was quietly running the marathon like all the rest of them.

So what exactly had runner K.Switzer done wrong? Well, she was a woman, that’s what! And I can personally vouch for that fact, for a while ago she visited my house in Essex and had a cup of coffee and a nice chat with us!

The picture was taken in April 1967, the event was the famous Boston Marathon, and the crazy-looking character attempting to wrestle Switzer off the road is Jock Semple, the Scottish race director. Jock was screaming “Get the hell out of my race!” determined not to have his event upstaged by a woman. In those days marathon running was seen as an ‘inappropriate’ activity for the female sex and if any women sneaked themselves into a race this was the sort of reaction it might produce.

Fortunately, Switzer’s boyfriend of the time, Tom Miller (in dark shorts), hurtled across the road moments after this picture was taken, and spectacularly barged Semple out of the way. Ms.Switzer continued in a state of shock, finished the race, and the world of marathon running was changed for ever.

Kathrine Switzer clocked a modest 4 hrs 20 mins for the 26.2 miles that day, but altered the course of sporting history. Within a few years women could freely and officially enter Boston, and other marathons, and no longer had to be wary of potential attack as they ran. Kathrine went on to fulfil her potential as a top runner (a PB of 2:51), and became a women’s sporting icon, and lots more besides. But what happened in the picture above is what first made her famous.

So what was she doing at the house of your Clapped-Out Runner in Essex, sitting in the conservatory and sipping my rather hesitant attempt at making a quality cup of coffee for a famous person?

Well it just so happens her partner is Roger Robinson, author and ex-international runner, and the couple were passing through my neck of the woods and took the opportunity to drop by and pick up a copy of my latest book, which Roger was kindly reviewing for a USA running magazine.

As the couple strolled into our house, I was momentarily tempted to hurtle towards Kathrine and bundle her into the flowerbeds, screaming “Get the hell off my garden path!” in a Scots accent - just for a laugh, you know, just to check her reactions after all these years. Of course that wouldn’t have been in the slightest bit funny, and I dismissed the thought quickly.

Kathrine must have told the tale of what happened mid-race at the 1967 Boston Marathon thousands of times, but she does it so well it bears repeating here:

“I was so surprised and frightened that I slightly wet my pants. I had never felt such embarrassment and fear. I’d never been manhandled before and never even spanked as a child, and the physical power and swiftness of the attack stunned me. I felt unable to flee, like I was rooted there, and indeed I was, since the man, this Jock guy, had me by the shirt. Then a flash of orange flew past, and hit Jock with a cross-body block. It was Big Tom in the orange sweatshirt.  There was a thud – whoomph! – and Jock was airborne. He landed on the roadside like a pile of wrinkled clothes. Now I felt terror. We’ve killed this guy - my God we’re all going to jail!”

Jock Semple didn’t die, 20-year-old Kathrine Switzer never went to jail, but the next day’s newspapers were full of pictures of her and life was never quite the same again.

(* Check out Rob Hadgraft's books on champion runners of yesteryear: 

http://amzn.to/1C2BjUK  or visit www.robhadgraft.com)

 

 

  

 

 

 

Out for a run - no matter what!

Ron Hill . . . 50 years of daily runs, no matter what.

I remember a few years ago going out running for 50 consecutive days, an effort I was quite pleased with at the time. But next week a man with the same initials as me - although considerably more famous - is due to complete 50 YEARS of running every single day!

Ron Hill, once Europe’s top marathoner and now aged 75, started his ‘streak’ on December 20^th, 1964. He has run at least a mile every day since, come hell or high water.  The nearest he came to missing a day was when he broke his sternum in a car crash in 1993. On another occasion he was treated for a stomach problem by serial killer Dr Harold Shipman, but overcame that too and still went running!

Ron doesn’t hit the headlines as often as he once did in his prime, but 2014 has still been an interesting year to say the least. He’s had a road named after him in his home town of Accrington, had a health scare when some cancerous tissues were found in his nether regions, and over in America a ‘streaker’ has emerged who, being much younger, is being tipped to overhaul Ron’s incredible record in the not-too-distant future.

Sixty-three year old Jon Sutherland exceeded 45 years  of running every day a short while ago, which puts him at No.2 on the all-time list behind our Ron, overtaking his fellow American Mark Covert who quit his streak on exactly 45 years. During celebrations for Sutherland’s feat, there was some discussion over whether Ron Hill’s streak was actually valid – for after bunion surgery in 1993 Ron only kept it alive by covering a mile on a track, using crutches. Some reckon that going along with the help of crutches doesn’t count as running at all. Sutherland himself is not arguing though, and said he considers himself number 2 behind Ron.

As many of us have found, your speed tends to decrease rather sharply once you pass the age of 50 or so, and Hill these days is a very steady traveller compared to his golden era. But the streak has become so important to him that he often puts it ahead of his own health and well-being on occasion.

The car smash that left him with a broken sternum luckily  happened after he’d run that day, but to complete the next day’s outing he had to discharge himself from hospital, and then sneak out of the house when his wife went shopping, hobbling a very painful and dangerous single mile to keep the record intact. More recently he suffered a couple of very nasty falls in the snow because of potholes, but again limped slowly home to complete the run in question.

Hill's Ipswich victory.

Personally I’ve bumped into the 9-stone pocket rocket on a number of occasions. He came to Ipswich several times in the 1980s, staging a seminar for the town’s first marathon in 1983 and running a couple of local marathons himself in subsequent years. He won the 1985 Ipswich Marathon in 2hrs 35mins as a 46-year-old and I recall one race in which many of us local runners, myself included, went to considerable trouble to overtake the great man – simply so we could say we’d led him for at least a short distance!  

I’m a long-time Hill admirer. How can you not be impressed by the man who single-handedly invented Tracksters? I also recall the time I went down with food poisoning in Portugal and for at least 24 hours was sustained only by sipping bottled water and reading Ron’s incredibly detailed autobiography, the self-published ‘Long Hard Road’. The book is so detailed it comes in two volumes and runs to 828 pages!

Many, including certain people close to me, have been rather uncomplimentary about this quirky tome, but I found it compelling and got through every word - a task that required almost as much stamina as Ron’s streak itself.

Long may he run.   

He chucked his running 'bling' into a skip!

AWAY WITH YOU! 200-plus running trophies are condemned to a skip....

WHEN a landmark birthday looms – usually the 40th, 50th or 60th – us runners tend to take a long hard look at training and lifestyle. Our little brows furrow and we fret over whether big changes are in order. 

One of the best-known figures on the Ipswich/Colchester running scene did just that when his half-century loomed . . . and decided to chuck more than 200 running trophies, medals and other mementoes into a skip and start afresh!

Once the dust had settled, this guy found himself a new sporting challenge, opting for a serious crack at duathlons (running/cycling). It’s all worked out rather well: Not only did he find himself with oodles more shelf-space at home, he got selected for Team GB at the grand old age of 50.

Nigel Powley ran in the colours of Ipswich Harriers, Ipswich JAFFA, Felixstowe Road Runners, Colchester Harriers and Belgrave Harriers between 1983 and 1997, winning races galore and chalking up sensational PBs. He won the Bury St Edmunds 20-miler in 1:44, the Norwich half-marathon in 67 minutes, the Hemel Hempstead 10-miler in 49 minutes and was in the top 25 (out of 32,000) at the Great North Run. He was even sponsored by sportswear giant Mizuno.

A chef in his day job, Powley’s running won him considerable local fame in these parts. I know, I typed out his name often enough when working for local papers. There was one occasion when he climbed into a taxi, surprised to find the cabbie was a well-known former Ipswich Town footballer; instead of “Where to, guv?” the driver did a double-take and asked: “Are you Nigel Powley?” Now that is what I call fame . . .

Powley quit running in 1997 because comebacks from injury had become increasingly tough: “I remember actually limping from start to finish during races,” he says. “I would warm up and be limping. Mizuno were going to offer me another contract as they were loyal to their athletes – but I knew I couldn’t do them or myself justice.”

Seventeen years later he’s back – and some. He told me this week: “I got divorced in 2010 and decided a new start was needed. The running trophies represented an old life and were just dust collectors, so in the skip they went! I am now happily married and my competitiveness is back thanks to the motivation wife Joanne gives me. You only live once. Have no regrets, new challenges come along all the time. Just getting older gives more opportunities. Suddenly I’m a good 50-year-old athlete compared to other 50-year-olds it seems. When I am 55 - if I can still walk - the challenges and targets will keep on coming hopefully. I'm aiming to take current achievements to another level next year having qualified to represent GB three times in two years. I believe I am the most competitive person I know. Here’s to a winter of very hard training. Hopefully I can keep injury free!”

Nigel Powley, training near Tunstall Forest

When Powley took up running aged 19 in 1983, the modern running boom was just taking off in Ipswich and he soon became one its first star names. The Ipswich JAFFA club was just beginning to flourish and as my local club of the time, I joined them. I was pleased to achieve 10k times of sub-35 minutes, but couldn’t live with the likes of Powley and Co up at the very sharp end! 

It is fascinating that, despite all his victories, Powley says he was never a ‘natural athlete’ and often did the opposite of what so-called experts told him. He ignored people who told him he was too young to tackle marathons, for example – and 31 years later is hoping to prove people wrong again: “I won races around the country and have some very good PBs . . . I’ll never run those times again, but now there are different challenges.” 

At the Duathlon European Championships in Austria this summer he was second GB athlete in his age group and 12th in Europe. He loves the cycling aspect of duathlons and admits: “If I was a teenager now, I’d be striving to become a professional cyclist. Cycling, if not already, will become the number one sport in this country.”

Interviewed recently by the ex-Felixstowe runner Rob Sears (boss man at Focus4Fitness), Powley told a horrendous story that will resonate with those of us familiar with the annual Woodbridge 10k. It’s a race that always seems to be staged in hot conditions - and 1995 was no exception, the temperature soaring to around 90 degrees F.

It’s another scorching hot Woodbridge 10k! 
 Yours Truly is making an ultimately unsuccessful bid to
 stay with the leaders, but at least I didn’t need
 the infamous Felixstowe Road Runners ambulance!

He recalled: “The heat was only exaggerated by the narrow streets and many dragging hills. I managed to win in 32 minutes but after finishing remember sitting in a doorway level with the finish line literally unable to move. I couldn’t lift my chin off my chest. I tried to beckon help but nobody took any notice. Next thing I knew, the second-placed runner from Felixstowe, my occasional training partner Dean Robinson, was being stretchered past with a white sheet over his head and body. I honestly thought he was dead!

“He was put into an empty garage nearby, still with a white shroud covering him.  Next to come past on a stretcher was the third-placed runner. To cut a long story short, Dean was not dead, but we all ended up in an ambulance with blue lights and sirens zooming to Ipswich Hospital, three very dehydrated runners inside. The other two got the beds in the ambulance and I got the floor! I remember looking out and seeing the road flash past, thinking the winner should have at least got a bed!”

(*Rob Hadgraft's books on running and football history now available via Amazon in paperback and as e-books for Kindle. Further info: www.robhadgraft.com)

 

Saltmarsh 2014: Panic on the streets of Tiptree!



One man and a dog - It's a busy day on the Saltmarsh route!

THERE was momentary panic on the streets of Tiptree last night in the build-up to the big Saltmarsh ultra-race at the weekend. The anchor-leg runner in the village running club's relay team encountered a horrifying incident which involved a washing  machine, her race number, and a bottle of Lenor (the one with 'Spring Meadows' fragrance).

Returning home from a club training run on Tuesday evening, Valerie (for it was she) hurled her running kit into the washing machine, setting the programme for a robust 1hr 40 mins at 60 degrees centigrade. The churning was well underway by the time the awful truth dawned: Inside the pocket of her running trousers was her precious Saltmarsh race number. It had been folded and labelled neatly inside a brown envelope by diligent relay-team organiser Wendy. Now it was turning to mush!

Quelle horreur! Valerie's shrieks could be heard for miles across the flatlands of the nearby Dengie Peninsula. "It won't stand a chance!" cried the distraught Normandy-born athlete. After a quick glass of Shiraz to help calm herself down, she did what all modern runners would do - she posted the awful news on Facebook.

Messages of sympathy flooded in as Valerie contemplated the brand new problem she'd created in addition to the nerves, stress and logistical issues that would accompany this weekend's big race along the Essex coast. 

But wait! Early this morning, unexpectedly good news began to emerge. The cherished race number apparently went through its soapy ordeal without major damage! Tiptree's carefully-assembled relay team could breathe again. When she brings the team home on the final stage, Valerie will be properly dressed after all!

She emerged this morning to issue the following statement: "Well, as it turns out it's all absolutely fine! I got the brown envelope out and the number is still intact - just a little bit cleaner and smelling of spring meadows, courtesy of Lenor!"

What this little domestic crisis does illustrate is that the numbers being used by the two-day Saltmarsh event are tough and built to last. This could be crucial, because the weather forecast for the Maldon area this weekend involves rain on the first day (70 per cent likely apparently). Light rain is expected throughout the middle part of Saturday, when runners will be making their way along the infamous third stage between Burnham-on-Crouch and the remote Othona Community site near Bradwell-on-Sea. The race organisers, rather ominously, refer to this section of over 13-miles as "the big one" and the award-winning book Britain's Wild Places identifies it as "the darkest, loneliest place in Essex". Trail Running magazine recently gushed about its dramatic and bleak beauty, calling it "wild, remote and isolated."

Runners from local clubs and much further afield have signed up to tackle the entire 75-miles plus over the two days, with those of a more cautious nature buddying up as relay teams. Your correspondent fell into the latter category and, what is more, wasn't brave enough to volunteer for the fearsome Stage 3 described above either. Maybe next year?

Instead, I find myself again manning the opening stage of Day 2. This leg, from Steeple to Maylandsea, is relatively short, but there was still time for a small bunch of us to go wrong at last year's inaugural event. We added some difficult and unnecessary terrain to our journey in 2013 and must have annoyed the hell out of our relay partners waiting up ahead for the imaginary baton to arrive! The reason for our navigational cock-up remains a mystery, but I can promise we definitely didn't go off course because we were distracted by looking for the wreck of Darwin’s Beagle, or trying to identify wading birds or the fascinating remains of artillery and aircraft paraphernalia to be seen at low tide.

The hardy souls doing the full distance all alone will no doubt be a bit more careful when it comes to navigational issues, especially as their task is rumoured to be nearer a hefty 79 miles than the 75 in the race's name. Here at the Tiptree club we are well represented this weekend in the 'solo' race. Our line-up includes last year's top female performer Tracy, and our up-and-coming ultra star Mark L, who has swapped the adrenaline of motorbike racing for legging it across vast swathes of countryside. His namesake Mark S is settling for two legs of the relay, a chance no doubt to loosen up in advance of his band Mouthful of Ashtrays appearing at Colchester's Bullstock music festival in a week's time (blatant plug alert). And, of course, going solo will be experienced campaigner James, whose relationship with mud in the Maldon area is legendary - a love affair that has even seen him feature on broadcast media in the Far East, believe it or not.

The coastal route between the start in South Woodham Ferrers and the finish at Salcott-cum-Virley is one of Britain's least populated areas, but if you do happen to be passing, give that wind-battered runner an encouraging cheer or two. They will need it!

* Rob Hadgraft's books now all available as e-books for Kindle, via:   http://amzn.to/1euPrZT
More information: www.robhadgraft.com