‘A cold wind smote our thinly-clad bodies like a whip...’

Only mad dogs and English runners go out in the midday snow . . .

WHEN the weather is this damned chilly, nobody likes too much hanging around at the start of a race. Hence the astonishing ‘false start’ that was witnessed at last weekend’s snowbound World Cross-Country champs in Poland!

You expect transgressions in track sprints, when every fraction of a second is vital, but to get a false start in a 12-kilometre cross-country was a real collector’s item.

BBC commentator Steve Cram had a good old chortle about it, and pondered whether it had ever happened before. His co-commentator Paula Radcliffe had the answer - yes it has. She recalled a race where the runners had covered at least 200 yards of grass before officials managed to call a halt.

Calling them back is the hard part. Poland must have some brave athletics officials.  You’d never attempt a recall at the English championships. The huge annual assembly at what we Anglos fondly call ‘The National’ traditionally fans out wide at the start, and the stampede always resembles a Zulu uprising. It would need more than a handful of hi-vis vests to send that lot back where they came from.

Seeing what happened on Sunday’s start-line at Bydgoszcz (I can spell it, but I can’t pronounce it) got me thinking about how cross-country always throws up funny stories and good anecdotes in a way that road or track-racing rarely does.  Here’s a few that spring to mind . . . .

              

                *A Tiptree Road Runners clubmate of mine turned up one Sunday keen and hungry at one of the longest and muddiest of Essex events. All was fine until he discovered he’d forgotten his running footwear. Unwilling to let the side down over such a ‘minor’ issue, our hero pinned on his number, proceeded to the start-line and ran the whole thing in ordinary leather day shoes!

                *Early in his running career, GB international Peter Elliott ended one cross-country race in the back seat of a police car. He’d been misdirected by a well-meaning marshal and was picked up by traffic cops who spotted him running determinedly along the hard shoulder of the M1!

                *In his younger days, the great Dave Bedford was so confident and talented (some would say arrogant!) he was able to win both junior and senior titles at the Southern XC Champs on the same day. But instead of widespread acclaim for this feat, all he got was an angry letter from a fellow runner’s mum, haranguing him for being a bloody show-off!

                *The very first organised cross-country championship – staged here in Essex of course – took place in Epping Forest in 1876, but ended in fiasco.  No tape or yellow arrows in those days, just a bloke scattering a paper trail. On this occasion he managed to run out of paper long before the end. Fearful of the consequences, he promptly scarpered from the scene with his empty bag. The entire pack of following runners were left stranded and freezing in the forest for hours with no idea where to go. Officials eventually located them and administered brandy (some was rubbed on muscles, some was poured down throats). 

 

                *After forgetting to bring his shorts, Harrow runner Chris Finill once had to race in exceptionally muddy conditions in totally unsuitable tracksuit bottoms. It led to a poor performance and Chris lost his temper at the finish-line when a youngster shouted “Go grandad” in his direction. He was just about to give the boy a clip round the ear when an elderly runner slipped ahead of him and gave the boy a hug. It was the boy’s grandfather.

                *Frank Tickner (Wells City) may have won the re-scheduled Southern champs on Parliament Hill Fields last month, but he didn’t get much acclaim. Spectators seemed far more interested in the small stray dog which joined the runners for a complete lap of this historic and incredibly muddy course, returning bedraggled but triumphant to loud cheers, only to be collared and whisked away by the Old Bill.  Onlookers wondered if the pacy pooch was a member of the Barking club - or maybe Thames Hare and Hounds?

                *When researching my book about old-time running hero Alf Shrubb, I came across many a cross-country calamity back in Edwardian days. Didn’t seem to do little Alf any harm though. In fact he got quite nostalgic and poetic when recalling those days: “A cold wind smote our thinly-clad bodies like a whip,” he said of one race. Not the sort of thing you hear from the mouth of your average club runner these days, I'd suggest? Alf remembered one 7-mile cross-country from South Croydon on a wintry weekend when thick fog descended mid-race, leading to some runners being lost out on the heath until 9pm, many hours after darkness fell!   

                * Hannah McQuarrie, a runner with the wonderfully-named Mornington Chasers club, is a relative newcomer to our sport. Her descriptions of the obscure charms of cross-country are among the best I’ve heard in ages. She reckons it’s a sport that gives us all the chance to give adulthood the middle finger and run through muddy fields with childish glee! She also suggests road-running is the Ken doll of the running world (smooth, flawlessly turned out, well organised, commercial), while cross-country is the drunken uncle (rough round the edges, scruffy, takes you by surprise, and prone to stumbles and falls).

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus 11 others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com

Not just the March hares who are completely mad!

Look out Doris - orange coming your way!

A FEW years ago, the month of March always marked the beginning of the road-racing season. Nowadays - in my neck of the woods anyway - it feels more like the start of the trail-running season.

Never mind chocolate eggs this Easter, trail-lovers will be feasting on a quartet of trail runs being staged between Good Friday and Easter Monday in mid-Essex. Chigborough, Little Baddow, Purleigh and A.N.Other are the sleepy villages selected for invasion by scores of runners over the holiday period. Most of us will choose to have a crack at one or maybe two events – but a fair number of gluttons will run all four!

Is it slightly odd to spend four consecutive days meandering the Essex countryside on foot with a sheet of instructions in your hand? Quite possibly, but compared to some Easter traditions of yesteryear, that’s not weird behaviour at all.

Indeed, if you thought runners were eccentric, consider the old Good Friday tradition of ‘Orange Rolling’ for example.

I was born and spent much of my childhood in the splendid and vastly-underrated county of Bedfordshire. During this time thousands of locals devoted every Good Friday to the strange and unique Orange Rolling ritual high up on Dunstable Downs. 

Over the years folks turned up in droves in every type of weather to fling oranges about, or simply watch others do it. In its early days everyone called it ‘Orange Pelting’ and participants could choose to be a pelter or be pelted. No Health and Safety worries back then.

This was the one day of the year in the Luton area when rowdy behaviour was positively encouraged. The Old Bill knew better than to try and interfere. But Lutonians are very gentlemanly types, and women and children were never deliberately targeted by the pelters (in theory). At first it had been called ‘Orange Pelting’ but when they changed it to ‘Orange Trundling’ and later to  ‘Orange Rolling’ it was clear someone was trying to calm things down a little.

As well as oranges flying up and down the steep hills, the day’s entertainment included brass bands, a Punch & Judy Show and stalls selling Bedfordshire Clangers (a sort of dumpling with savoury stuff at one end and sweet at the other). But it was the fruit flinging that always grabbed most of the attention.

The good folk of Luton and Dunstable would buy oranges by the bagful, which they promptly hurled gleefully at the characters lower down the hill. Some of the ‘victims’ deliberately made themselves targets by wearing inside-out coats and huge hats, so that they could grab the fruit, rush back up the hill and re-sell it to the happy pelters at the top. Some would deftly bag the oranges, hand them to a young assistant and later on hawk them round the neighbourhood.

As well as oranges, there was also a time when you could buy ‘Lady Teasers’ to use in the general mayhem.  According to Rita Swift (local historical society person), these were rubber items, filled with water, which were employed as a sort of water pistol. Presumably the blokes squirted it at any girls they fancied, to get their attention. Whether the ‘ladies’ liked being ‘teased’ in this way is not clear.

One year the local paper highlighted an incident in which a tiny girl was struck by an orange with such force she was knocked clean over and the orange sped away down the hill. A young boy, not much older himself, raced to retrieve it and presented it to the sobbing child.  The paper called him a hero and reported that he was rewarded for his actions with pocketfuls of oranges to take home for himself.

In the swinging sixties, a warm Easter would encourage the girls to come out in skimpy outfits. But before that, a mere glimpse of a petticoat would be a big deal up there on the Downs. One report stated: “Many of the crowd belonged to the fair sex, and, as the wearing of bloomers has by no means yet become general, the wind played havoc with their skirts . . . the wind played mad pranks with these ladies . . .  a wonderfully pretty display of multi-coloured petticoats was seen.”

As the years went by, inevitably things slowly got rowdier and on one occasion The Dunstable Excelsior Band had to beat a hasty retreat when they came under fire from the oranges. Eventually the annual fun was stopped altogether in 1968, partly because local businesses were losing interest in supporting the event.

I was still young back then and – like the other local kids – probably thought that hurling oranges down a hill to celebrate Easter was perfectly normal behaviour. Before long my visits to Dunstable Downs ended anyway as my family moved house to Essex.

We settled in the village of Tiptree, where it was clear the locals treated fruit with much more respect – making world-famous jam out of it instead of flinging it around a windy hillside! 

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus 11 others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com

Was Damon Albarn right? Is modern life rubbish?

Sorry you had to see this readers. It’s not merely my favourite mega-blister,
but rather “A random episode that repaired itself and made me stronger”!

THERE’S been much TV news footage recently showing the hospital in which the Queen had her dicky tummy attended to. It all looked very familiar, and for several days I was under the rather pleasing impression that old Liz was being treated at the very same place where they operated on my knee a few years ago.

But now, having consulted The Old Grey Training Log, I realise I didn’t go under the knife at the King Edward VII hospital after all – it was a couple of blocks away in the nearby Princess Grace.  Liz’s BUPA cover was probably higher grade than mine.

Never mind! The distinguished consultant who foraged expertly inside my leg back in 1997 was one of Harley Street’s finest (so I was told), even though he wasn’t a young sporty type, but very ‘old school’ like the surgeons in the ‘Harry and Paul’ comedy show.

I’ve run 10,000 miles since that op, but all the evidence points to that day 15 years ago being the start of the decline of my glittering running career. In terms of speed and mileage anyway. Before that operation my 10k times were routinely well under 40 minutes, and the 5-milers well under 30, but since then . . .  well, let’s not go there.

The procedure involved keyhole surgery to clean up damaged cartilage. I was running again – albeit gently – only 11 days later and trying to obey advice to train mainly on grass. Nine years later (2006), the knee required a similar procedure again. And again I was slightly disappointed to get a surgeon with seemingly no real knowledge of running or sport.

After this second op the wagging finger on the other side of the desk told me to stick to gentle running on grass, or alternatively take up swimming. Anyone who has seen my pathetic efforts in water will know which option I chose.

I’ve always treated those two bouts of knee trouble as negative events which heralded the impending arrival of Clapped-Out Runner status.  But this week I heard about a school of thought which regards injuries or physical setbacks as normal ‘random’ events. They have a positive effect by teaching your body how to recover and be stronger in the future.

That’s not to say injuries are GOOD – that would be barmy – but there is an interesting new perspective to consider here.

All this stuff is posted on the Facebook page of an organisation called Champions Everywhere.   This group provides ‘old school’ coaching for runners, which aims to  ensure natural and injury-free running via the methods of legendary coaches of the past, such as Arthur Lydiard. 

When we get ill, the theory goes, we usually heal back more resistant to that disease. And if we lift 300kg of weights today, our body builds back capacity to lift 315kg tomorrow ("just in case it needs to"). Humans and other animals are not as fragile as machines, which break down and are not able to recover on their own and become stronger.  

Unlike the machines and technology we invent, we humans thrive on randomness. Stress and discomfort (especially in running) makes us stronger, whereas it merely makes bridges, cars and other machines weaker.

Those Britpop superstars Blur named an album ‘Modern Life is Rubbish’, and it seems Damon Albarn had a point.  Everything nowadays is designed to remove randomness. Antibiotics for bacteria, pain-killers for pain, anti-inflammatories for inflammation, hi-tech cushioning for road shoes, non-weight bearing activity for running injuries. The list goes on and on.

Although our systems cope well with acute stress and then grow back stronger, we can become fragile and vulnerable if subjected to chronic stress (e.g. daily commutes, constant abuse of the body, heavy mileage in cushioned  shoes, etc). This is even more likely when we get too comfortable and too protected, thus making us likely to be soft, weak, sick and maladapted!

Chronic injuries result from all this, and when we runners visit the experts in white coats they charge us a fortune and then put us on bikes (weaker bones, poorer movement), or put  orthotics or more cushioning in our shoes (even weaker body, bones, poorer movements). It’s an endless degenerative cycle.

The Champions Everywhere people reckon the only way to break this cycle is to accept you are NOT fragile - that your running body loves randomness, chaos, discomfort and stress. Next you must learn to move naturally again, apply the correct natural stress that will make your body thrive and adapt, get stronger again and move better.

And, they add, we should turn a deaf ear to the doubters - those who want to label us ‘injury-prone’ or give fancy Latin terms to our injuries - who perpetuate more fear, more disuse and more weakness.

So has all this advice come along a bit too late to help your Clapped Out Runner?

Should I start thinking of my dodgy knee as the result of past random episodes which have actually made me stronger?  Should I stop using the knee as an excuse to restrict my weekly training to 15 miles (mostly steady and off-road)?

Should I chuck out my cushioned and supportive Puma and Asics shoes and stick to the lightweight Brooks ones (which I prefer anyway) which have so far only been used with great caution? And why not go the whole hog and get some of those minimalist shoes that claim to replicate barefoot running?

Anyway, next time I feel a twinge in the calf, or inflammation of the knee, I’ll carry out a little experiment. Instead of describing it as an injury, I’ll announce it as a random episode that will make heart, nerve and sinew stronger.

I’ll sound like a complete nutter, but, you never know, it might help . . . .

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus 11 others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com

Things beginning to get a bit hairy around here . . .

Andy Girling (384) used to race in Ipswich Chantry's Park with a beard that even scared little white dogs.....

THERE are several reasons you don’t see many bearded runners these days. Mostly, I suspect, due to issues such as sweat, aerodynamics and fashion.

But, thanks to a rash pledge I made a few weeks ago, I am now sampling life as a bearded runner for the first time in 30 years of pounding pavements, parks and pathways.

It all started on January 5 when a bearded Welshman called Alex Lawless volleyed a fine goal to knock Wolves out of the FA Cup. Hirsute Alex’s fabulous and unexpected winner sparked great celebrations among long-suffering Luton Town supporters like myself.

Some of us, unused to such dizzy excitement, marked the occasion with massive intakes of alcohol. Others did even stranger things. In my case, I inexplicably promised to grow an Alex Lawless beard in tribute to the goalscorer, which I wouldn’t shave off until the day Luton went out of the FA Cup.

As Luton currently languish in football’s fifth tier (it’s a long and bitter story), their survival in the FA Cup was expected by all to be short and sweet.  How could I have known we would pull off the greatest FA Cup giant-killing in 27 years last weekend and progress to the last 16 of the competition?  A couple of days of non-shaving has  now turned into many weeks of sprouting facial hair.

And this will have to continue into the second half of February at the very least. Some reckon Luton’s forthcoming fifth round tie with Millwall is eminently winnable, so it might go well into March and beyond!

This begs the question: Will the beard interfere with my running?

The answer to almost everything can be found on the internet, so it was there I headed. I stumbled upon Aaron of Coolrunning Australia who tells me: “I've noticed lately that growing a gnarly beard has improved my running tenfold. After a little plateau last year I needed to change things up a bit - I could have added mileage or done more intervals or whatever, but instead took note of the awesome phenomenon gripping the running world ... a sweet beard. Runners back in the 1970s were putting out faster marathon times and why was that? Genetics? Harder training? No people, it was beards!”

This was encouraging news, so I then consulted Runners World. One of their correspondents observed: “I'm faster now than before I grew my beard. Seriously, though, it is fast. It always seems to finish before I do.”

Another punter piped up: “A beard is like Samson's hair. And it helps that it sticks out that extra couple of inches. Almost like a carrot in front of a horse. It's taunting me to keep up. Apparently the older ladies like it too - so that's not such a bad thing.”  

On Facebook there’s a community page called The Running Beard Movement. Around 500 people have hit their ‘Like’ buttons to support this. The page claims it was inspired by Forrest Gump, and others like him, to create a place for all bearded runners to celebrate and promote the greatness of all forms of running beards!

Some runners seem to get quite evangelical about the power of the beard. According to the See Anis Run website, beards are a source of true power for runners. Beards look “bad ass” and, of course, shaving merely takes up valuable time that could be better used for training, sleeping or drinking beer.

Talking of beer, the website Draftmag reckons there are many traits shared by keen runners and beer geeks – i.e. happiness, creativity and beards. They point out that a beardie called Tim Olson recently crushed a long-standing 100-mile record in the USA by finishing in less than 15 hours. His long, flowing locks and Jesus-like beard didn’t hamper him at all.

Looking back over the years, there have been a number of notable beardie runners. Here’s my Top Ten . . . .

1. FAUJA SINGH

The turbanned-tornado from Ilford is a 101-year-old Sikh and the world's oldest marathon runner. He’s completed eight marathons with a PB of 5:40. He plans to quit after one final run at next month's Hong Kong Marathon, a few weeks before turning 102.  

2. FORREST GUMP

Not only did he start a successful shrimping company and become a college football star, Gump also ran across the nation solving people’s problems along the way. His epic beard was a guiding light for many Americans. 

3. LASSE VIREN

When the Flying Finn showed up bearded, rivals knew he was in great shape because it meant he’d not had time to shave. Won double Olympic gold in 1972 and successfully defended both in 1976. He later admitted to blood doping (not illegal in the 1970s).

4. FRED LEBOW

Born in Romania, he was so small he was almost hidden by his bold black beard. He ran 69 marathons and became famous for creating the New York Marathon which sparked the subsequent running boom.

5. PETE RICHARDSON

Essex marathon and 10-mile champion in 1979 (a sub-50 minute ten-miler), later joining my club Tiptree Road Runners where he is still record holder at five distances. All were achieved with voluminous beard around 20 years ago, before a car accident interrupted his career.

6 ANDY GIRLING

Tall man of Kent whose beard swept him to many a victory in Suffolk during his days based in Ipswich. Won the Florence Marathon, clocked 2:15 at London and was picked for GB in the 1980s.

7 MIKE GRATTON

Did England proud by becoming the only bearded winner of the London Marathon (2.09.43 in 1983), and now strokes that chin on many a foreign shore during his work as a sports travel agent.

8 GREG MEYER

His fulsome beard stormed to a 2:09 victory in the 1983 Boston Marathon. He’s now 57 and still runs daily, but has shaved his head and reduced the beard to a goatee.

9 DANNY MULLANE

Danny and his beard represented a number of Essex clubs, latterly Tiptree, as they chalked up highly respectable PBs. Competed across the globe and gave back to the sport in various admin capacities.

10 RICK SMALL

Bushy-bearded Ipswich JAFFA runner back in the 1980s who was stockier version of Fred Lebow, plus glasses. Lived Stowmarket way and was a sculptor, I seem to recall.

Have I missed any others worthy of a mention?

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus 11 others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com

Good old Benfleet bucks the trend!

"Keep going, only another 14 miles to go!"

LAST Sunday morning, at the crack of dawn, a runner I know crept out of bed to set off early for the Benfleet 15-mile race, a popular but tough annual off-road event in Essex beside the Thames estuary. There was snow and ice everywhere, but my friend had been assured this race always goes ahead no matter what. And besides, he’d paid his £15 entry fee and didn’t want to lose face by failing to show just because of dodgy weather.

Feeling anxious, but still up for the challenge, he carefully gathered up his cold-weather running gear, gulped down porridge and coffee, and crept out the front door. Within seconds he’d slipped over and bruised a knee, cracked an elbow and landed unceremoniously on his backside. Looking up, he noticed the car windscreen was frozen solid, the road past his house was a sheet of ice, and the sky was looking menacing.

All his resolve of earlier was gone in an instant. He picked himself up and, with tail between legs, crept back indoors. A picture of misery, he quietly undressed, returned to the bedroom and slipped back under the duvet next to his long-suffering wife.

"It’s shocking out there, honey," he whispered.

"Yes," she replied, "but my idiot husband still went running!"

OK, it’s an old and well-worn joke, but given current prevailing weather conditions, something similar must have happened somewhere on Planet Running last weekend?

Actually, the fact the Benfleet 15 bravely went ahead at all on Sunday was great news for runners in general, particularly the clapped-out old traditionalists like me. However, just 24 hours later, there was bad news when the Southern Cross-Country Championships on Parliament Hill Fields was called off due to the snow – SIX DAYS in advance!

Shocking that such a major historic event – at the spiritual home of cross-country running - should be cancelled at all, let alone almost a week ahead. Was this ‘health and safety’ gone mad? It was reported that the decision came from the people who manage the site (the City of London Corporation) rather than the race officials – and the reasons given were two-fold: The course is “badly rutted” and there are  “snow-related travel problems” involved.

When I started running (many aeons ago), the weather gods could throw whatever they liked at us, but cross-country races would always go ahead regardless.

Roads could become impassable, train services non-existent, all other sporting pursuits brought to their knees. But a British cross-country race always went ahead – there was nothing bad enough to cause a cancellation. NOTHING. Not even the arrival of the end of the world. And even if the world had ended, somebody would have pulled a few strings to get the race staged in a parallel universe.

It was such a badge of honour to defy the weather that an Athletics Weekly reporter, a Scotsman called Colin Shields, even published a book about the sport in 1990 which he called ‘Runs Will take Place Whatever the Weather.’

It was acknowledged back then that the whole point of this sport was for participants to tackle with gusto everything Mother Nature could throw. Difficult terrain, difficult weather and, of course, difficult opponents, were all part of the game. The harder the better. In most runners’ minds, there was no such thing as a cross-country course that was TOO difficult to run (not even the one at Stebbing!) When old Walter Rye introduced the sport to the general populus back in 1868 he never intended it would be a leisurely pursuit.

I suspect things started to change in the 1980s when TV coverage of major races came along. It wouldn’t have made good telly for the runners to head off into the distance, disappearing into woods and valleys away from the cameras. So courses had to be created that went round and round in red-and-white taped circles, with little artificial slopes built in to break the monotony, the field never venturing far from where they started.

Zola Budd came over from South Africa and ran some of our courses barefoot, but that wasn’t enough to deter the ‘health and safety’ brigade, who before long were quoting all manner of peripheral reasons for curbing or cancelling cross-country events.

Although Benfleet was a multi-terrain race and not, strictly speaking, a ‘cross-country’ event, it was good to see it buck this trend and stick two fingers up to the weather. But the Southern XC debacle comes hot on the heels of cancellation of the South of England Indoor (!) Championships at Lee Valley, proving that even with a roof over their heads, other factors are now paramount when staging athletics.

Elsewhere last week, officials did get the McCain Cardiff Cross Challenge moving, even though a high number of county schools championships and road races never happened. Even the ‘Brass Monkey Half Marathon’ near York was called off, which by its very title is surely supposed to go ahead regardless of the cold?

And here’s an amusing footnote to all this: Over in Minnesota, USA, a race was cancelled last week for the second year in a row, because there was NOT ENOUGH snow!  Mind you, dogs and sleds were apparently involved, so perhaps their caution can be forgiven . . .  

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus 11 others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com

No skullduggery in this neck of the woods!

Southend .v. Colchester last weekend - no quarter given!

AS I write this, many miles away Lance Armstrong and Oprah Winfrey are cosying up on a sofa in the disgraced cyclist’s expensive home in Austin, Texas. TV cameras are recording their conversation for broadcast later this week. The world outside is holding its breath, excited to find out what was said in the 150-minute interview.

Did Lance apologise for being a cheat, a liar, and a bounder of the first order?  Has he finally confessed to systematic doping over a period of years? Did he tearfully beg forgiveness? Did he get a sympathetic hug from his friend Oprah or did she attack him in fierce Paxman-style?

It is widely believed that Armstrong is coming clean after years of denial because at the age of 41 he now wants to pave the way for a return to competitive sport. Not in cycling, but in marathons and triathlons.  

Not quite sure how that will work out, but he’ll need to have put up one hell of a performance on Oprah’s show if he wants the distance-running world to welcome him with open arms.  We runners have long memories.

Of course, here in the humble world of the Clapped-Out Runner, cheating is a rare and abhorrent thing. As far as I know, anyway.

Many people would say the stuff I take before a race is more likely to hinder than help. For example, the only stimulants that passed my lips last weekend were a pre-race cocktail of instant coffee, Trebor Extra Strong mints and a banana. All three were ingested (separately) in the 60 minutes before Sunday morning’s 53-12 Cross-Country League meeting on Martlesham Heath, near Ipswich. I quite fancied a Jaffa Cake or a Fig Roll too, but sadly those delicacies were not available due to a shopping malfunction earlier in the week.  

A week or so earlier I was reduced to necking a couple of sachets of Lemsip and the odd Strepsil, but I’m fairly sure those are not on the IAAF’s banned list, so I think I was running clean at Martlesham. There was a peculiar smell pervading the race, but this was probably something to do with the heaps of manure near the finish-line rather than any illegal substances being bandied about.

Down here at sport’s grass roots level the only cheating that goes on is usually accidental. Like runners who cut corners very slightly by going the wrong side of the red-and-white plastic tape. Or the bloke who barged clumsily into a runner from the home club, Ipswich JAFFA, and spiked him in very painful fashion.

Now, I ask you, is that any way to treat your hosts? Apparently the spiking incident tore the guy’s shoe open and caused a foot injury bad enough to put him out of the race.  We assume it was all accidental, but who knows? Perhaps the perpetrator was unhappy with the 5.37-mile course that JAFFA had devised and was expressing his discontent with violence? Or perhaps the fumes from the manure heaps were affecting his balance and powers of navigation?

Whatever the reasons, the victim was certainly very angry and felt there was no need for what had happened, reacting with some very fruity language.  I know exactly how he felt:  I recall a 10k road race in Peterborough a while back during which a small but well-built fellow came barrelling past me with such force and disregard for personal space that I nearly ended up in the River Nene. 

This was not one of those commonplace brushes from a stray elbow, but more like being run over from behind by a small tank. It led to one of those confrontations which in football they call ‘handbags at 10 paces’.  Most collisions in running are probably caused by somebody’s clumsiness or carelessness, but to the victim it doesn’t always feel like that. An apology is usually enough to smooth things over, but strangely that is not always forthcoming in the heat of the action. Road-racing is hard enough as it is, without it becoming a contact sport!

But we runners are nothing if not resilient and positive people, and the bruised Ipswich man from Sunday was soon treating his misfortune as a blessing in disguise. Less than 24 hours later he was announcing how he was looking forward with glee to going shopping for a lovely brand new pair of shoes to replace the damaged ones! Any excuse.

My own club also emerged from Sunday’s race wreathed in smiles. For Tiptree Road Runners, small but perfectly formed, have very nearly clinched top place in Pool ‘B’ of the 53-12 Cross-Country League. OK, it’s not a development that will sweep Lance Armstrong off the sports pages, but it’s big news in jam-making country.

We can now begin to look forward to next season and the chance to compete with the big boys and girls in Pool ‘A’!  It will be rather like Swansea City’s arrival in football’s Premier League last year: Everyone will expect instant relegation for such small fry, but Tiptree will attempt to emulate Swansea by using our limited budget sensibly and producing some attractive displays out on the grass. The only problem might be finding a new signing like Michu to win us the necessary points to stay up.

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus 11 others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com

          

Night time is the right time!

NOS GALAN: A great atmosphere - despite the lardy cakes!

IT would be nice to start the new year full of beans, setting some new running targets for the 12 months ahead.

But large swathes of recent weeks have been rendered zero-mileage zones. My progress into 2013 has been littered with support bandages, tubes of Ibuprofen gel, packs of Strepsils and sachets of Lemsip.   

It was exactly the same a year ago – and the one before that. A pattern seems to be developing. Perhaps it’s nature’s way of telling me to take a short break from running. Maybe it’s a hiaitus that wouldn’t happen at all if the authorities could change the calendar a little and stage the festive period once every four years in future. This works well for the Olympics and the World Cup, after all.  

For me, the running year nowadays runs out of steam in mid-December and only splutters back into life around mid-February. This means my annual ambition to run a full set of league cross-country fixtures is left in tatters every winter.  

The only saving grace in 2012-13 has been the arrival of the Parkrun project on my manor. These low-key weekly 5k races in town parks are ideal when coming back from injury, illness, or periods of low mileage. 

Until recently there were none within an hour of your Clapped-Out Runner’s residence, but now I suddenly have three to choose from every Saturday. You spoil us, Mr Parkrun Ambassador!

New Year arrived in the UK with folk repeating that grumpy mantra about it being an overrated occasion. As far as I can tell, most people over 30 stayed home and watched Jools’ Hootenanny on TV, accompanied by friends or family or a fridge full of booze. Maybe all three. Nobody holds parties any more, and town centre pubs are only accessible by ticket or entry fee!

Seems to me there’s an urgent need for more New Year’s Eve midnight races. There’s a famous one in South Wales (Nos Galan) and they are popular in Brazil, Portugal (Sao Silvestre races), Spain and Italy.  The idea involves a road race commencing a few minutes before midnight, so you run into the new year amid a sparkling, floodlit atmosphere, watching crowds cheering on friends and family while throwing drink and hot food down their necks in the cool night air. You can’t beat it.

In my 30 years as a runner, I’ve spent four New Year’s Eves in sweat-soaked running kit – Nos Galan races in 1988 and 1994, Lisbon in Portugal in 1990 and the Peak District in 2000. Four very different races, all rather surreal, but a great way to see in the new year.

The Nos Galan event in Mountain Ash, South Wales, was founded in 1958 and soon attracted big fields and famous names, and at its height was covered live on BBC TV. But in 1973 the police got shirty about traffic congestion and it was cancelled. In 1984 it returned and is still going today, although the wretched health and safety aspect means it’s no longer staged at midnight which was the whole point in the first place.

It all starts with a wreath being laid on the grave of local hero Guto Nyth Bran. A flaming torch is then carried into Mountain Ash by a mystery celebrity runner, who reveals themselves to the awaiting crowds before the main race in the hilly narrow streets of the town. Past mystery runners have included Olympians Mary Rand, Dave Bedford, Lynn Davies and – most recently – Dai Greene.

By all accounts old Guto Nyth Bran deserves the homage this event pays him. Apparently he was such a fast runner he could catch a bird in flight, and once ran to Pontypridd and back before the kettle boiled. When he was 37, he won a 12-mile challenge against ‘The Prince of Bedwas’ but all the congratulatory slaps on the back proved too much for him and he died in the arms of girlfriend Sian.  There’s no film footage to prove any of this I’m afraid, because it happened in the year 1737.

I recall my first Nos Galan appearance in 1988 rather well because it was probably my best race performance ever. Despite steep hills I managed 19:35 for 6k  (5:16 per mile) although still only came 110^th of 600, such was the quality of this and other fields back then. Four of us travelled to Wales for the event and this week I contacted the other three for their 24-year-old memories:

According to Mark: “I remember the extraordinary race well, with all its torchlight and tradition and celebrity, and enjoyed the Guinness afterwards and the race T shirt. I also recall an aggressive goat called Henry Cooper where we stayed, as well as some fairly unpalatable lardy cakes eaten pre-race in the grounds of Cardiff Castle."

Julie confirms the “nasty lardy cakes” but was convinced ‘Henry Cooper’ was a sheep and not a goat. Bev, who had to go shopping for new sheets, such was the inferior standard of our accommodation, recalls: “We stayed in the world's worst B&B. Really uncomfortable beds and a grumpy landlady. And as I’m definitely a lark and not an owl, I was so tired by midnight I could hardly be bothered to jog let alone race!”

There were certainly more creature comforts on offer at the Sao Silvestre midnight race which followed in 1990 in Portugal. For starters there was free hotel accommodation because the manager apparently mistook me for someone famous (perfectly understandable!). No flaming torch or lardy cakes, but warmer temperatures, Champagne on the beach, and fireworks. “A pretty fab way to see in the new year,” recalls Bev.  

In cautious, safety-conscious UK it’s hard to imagine the authorities encouraging midnight races in our boozed-up 21^st century city centres. Mind you, back in 1980 nobody could have predicted London allowing a major marathon on its streets every year. 
Come back Chris Brasher, we need you . . . .

* Rob Hadgraft’s five published books on running (plus others on football) are now also available as e-books for Kindle at just £4.99 each.   Use this link:   Rob Hadgraft's running books on Amazon  or, alternatively:   www.robhadgraft.com