Running

Type 2 fun for sure. Well done @BringMeMyFix & anyone else wading thru that. Ta for the specs tip too.

Good running @PhilPub @nefarious & everyone else!

Try a different brand double layer to rule out alpkit ones being duff? I use 1000mile fwiw.

After being filmed in store, I’ve bought the same pair of running shoes for three years (Nike zoom structure). They’ve served me well but I’ve got much quicker in that time and I’m thinking my running style might have changed.

Should I go and get filmed running again?

Or is it unlikely I’ll have changed?

I reckon: Are you getting injuries?

Are they uncomfortable?

If your answers are yes, then consider new models. If not, stick with what you know.

Occasionally something but not a lot and I find them comfortable. I think I should stick to what I know!

How are you getting on?
I'm getting to the end of cyclo-cross season, I've not really been training beyond an interval session and a run a week. I'm bored and did 10k today running.

I'd like to try and crack 22 and then 20.
Which plan did you go for?

Breaking news! Anyone doing Brighton Marathon next year? I've just been confirmed as sub-3 pacer. :-) Was hoping to get involved in London again, as I don't plan on racing one in the Spring, but it appears as though they've made their pacing plans already, so I thought I'd try Brighton instead. Could be a nice weekend away. Anyone care to join me on the 2:59 train? Choo-woo!

Spotted this, 50% off Asics gear for 24 hours, seems to have the majority of the range / sizes!

https://www.realbuzzstore.com/brands/brands-a-z/asics.html

Seems like a good deal to me, hopefully of use to someone?

emailed a local running club to see if i could get a bit of training and some company for training. Being an honest chap i explained my parkrun time is about 32 mins at a casual slope or if i push i managed 29 mins and lots of wheezing. Im aware that these arent good times BTW but im just starting again. The bloke from the running club was mad keen to farm my fees until he saw the times. "we dont do a new runner program at the moment and you wont be able to keep up with the seniors who run for an hour"

Kind of sad now, suppose i'll just keep messing about in trainers on my tod. Maybe i can draft the dog into running, the fat git could do with some exercise.

Fuck those guys. You'll find a better group to run with.

+1 fuckem

Try searching here: https://runtogether.co.uk

Just fired an email off to another group. That website is proper handy.

great stuff, personally prefer Brighton to London, although it is possible to feel a bit lonely on course, 3:10 this year and I felt I ran completely alone from mile 10 to mile 19 when a mate jumped on the course to keep me company for a couple of miles!

a sub 3 is on my list for 2020, have ironman next year :/

not very welcoming, but better to be honest and take your money only for you to be left for dead in your first session, it can be really hard for small clubs, so we usually point complete newbies to our local neighbour run club (we're tri club) as by the time we've done a 2km warm-up to get from or meeting point to the park where we do our sessions, most newbies would be toast!

good luck finding a bigger and better club!

Our village club has a great friendly atmosphere. We don't have the top end runners that some of our bigger rivals have but we still managed to top the county Grand Prix rankings for the men and have good representation at the pointy end of several categories in the women's events. But at the same time we welcome all comers and our weekly club runs are designed so that everyone can find something that suits them, and we have plenty of runners slower than you.

Don't give up looking, there are loads of really welcoming clubs out there.

Whereabouts are you based? A decent size club should have groups for anything from walk/run up to fast groups. Frankly a 30 minute PR should put you somewhere in the middle at a lot of clubs.

I'm near Durham, up north. Im not all that bothered about being the slowest as it my default setting i'll find somewhere mainly because id like a decent GNR time ( a gym monkey colleague is running to so itd be nice to match his time) and maybe lose a bit of beef.

The Angus Tait Memorial Hexham Hobble.

I wasn’t born or raised in Newcastle, but I did a lot of growing up there. I moved when I was 17 to study at university, and the nine following years formed me as much as the previous 17 in my hometown, Edinburgh, had.
Weekends were usually spent driving out into Northumberland to climb on some of the many amazing sandstone outcrops: Bowden Doors, Kyloe in the Woods, Great Wanney’s. The climbing was much like your archetypal Northumbrian – stout, hard, high quality and full of character. It’s generally pretty quiet – the geography puts it just beyond the normal ventures of most – people diverting to the Lake or Peak District, many even driving straight past on the way to Scotland. This leaves you with a real hidden treasure. One that still feels like a close guarded secret when I visit now, astonished (but glad), that there aren’t more people enjoying this beautiful place.
It may have been climbing that introduced me to Northumberland, but it was the slightly more esoteric sporting pursuit of Cumberland Westmorland Wrestling, that really buried its place in my heart. One summer I found myself working on an exhibit that was to tour the County Fairs. It was an old horse wagon that had been converted into a museum of the history of the boxing booths that used to feature at fairs and show grounds. The basic premise of a boxing booth was “Go three rounds, win a pound!” – a seemingly achievable goal for a bounty of over a day’s wages. There was, as with every fairground challenge, a factor set to greatly diminish that achievability – a world-class boxer. And world-class is by no means an exaggeration. Jimmy Wilde “The Ghost with the Hammer in His Hand” was a well-known booth boxer who later became a World Featherweight Champion several years running. The cloak that concealed his dagger was his diminutive stature (5 foot 2 and 8 stone), which would draw hardy workingmen into the ring; unable to perceive the danger they were finding themselves in. The slight but devastating Wilde, providing great spectacle and income for the booth. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but the image of this small man, knocking 16 stone monsters onto their arses, must have been a sight to behold.
Unsurprisingly, this form of entertainment didn’t quite survive into the modern era, so the touring exhibit was more cultural than physical. We’d set up a marquee with a boxing ring inside, and different performers would come and do their acts on the theme on boxing in the ring. It would receive mixed praise – many coming to tell amazing stories of the booths, but an equal number voicing their disappointment at the lack of bloodsport.
Once we’d set up, we were free to walk around the County Fairs. Prize winning vegetables, lovingly restored vintage tractors, pedigree sheep and competition cakes all had their appeal, but it was the wrestling that really caught my eye. I enquired to one of the local competitors (the meritorious Jack Brown of Hayden Bridge, for the interested) if the public ever entered, and was informed that it was highly common and often profitable – with prize money being offered to the top three or four of each weight category. The format appeared simple enough, left hand over, right hand under, clasp your hands behind your opponents back, don’t let go, and try and throw or trip them to the ground, best of three falls and that’s that. Either way, I fancied my chances much more favourably than trying to survive three rounds with an iron fisted world champion for a measly quid!
Name entered, weight checked on an antique set of counterbalance scales and I’m good to go. Soon enough I’m called into the foray – a circular ring defined by a line of sawdust - and I’m faced with my opponent. Fortunately for me, it is not a cold blooded knockout-artist world champion, but instead a cheery Northumbrian teenager called Archie Singer who had only minutes before been giving me pointers on how to wrestle. Also in my favour was the fact that unlike boxing, in wrestling, an amount of strength bereft of technique can occasionally leverage a victory. The referee, Jimmy Pringle, calls us into the middle and in his unmistakable deep Northumbrian accent instructs us “Wrestlers, tek hod”, “On yer guard”, “Wrassle!”. And with a good amount of tussle, I manage to unbalance and tumble down on top of Archie. A win! We gather ourselves up and shake hands – as is the tradition before and after every fall. Taking hold again, Archie launches a quick attack the second the bout commences – a quick push and a foot placed behind my own and I land flat on my arse. One all. Third time round, I’m a bit more prepared to fend off his attacks, and I manage to awkwardly tumble down on top of him again, to victory. A quick handshake, and a hand raised in the air to signal the win to the judges’ table and that’s that. It’s probably worth noting that I was ten years older, and several stone heavier than Archie at that moment – a momentous triumph it was not. My next opponent was from the other end of the wrestling scale, it was 6 foot 3, 15 stone and All Weights Champion, Andrew Ord. Informed of his accolades by Archie, he told me not to worry, “He’s dead gentle”. Slightly baffled by this apparent contradiction I enter the ring, shake hands and take hold as instructed. My feet leave the ground the instant the bout commences, as he spins me round for an inside-hipe. Using his leg, he tips by body horizontal in the air and lays me down as softly as a parent putting a baby to bed. I guess that was pretty gentle. He picks me up off the deck with a smile and repeats the exact same thing for the second round, sealing the set. As an aside, I ended up training at the same club as Andrew – Rothbury Wrestling Club – for years to come after this, and during that time and over hundreds of bouts, I can count the times I took a fall off him on one hand. Nicest bloke you’ll ever meet.
Anyway, my efforts had given me a 4th place in the category, receiving £5 in an envelope. Definitely better than getting my head punched in over a pound. That summer I wrestled at every show I worked at, and then started traveling on my own just to wrestle, evening joining a club to train at weekly. I wrestled for about five years before I moved away, traveling all over Northumberland and Cumbria, even competing in Celtic Wrestling competitions in France and Iceland. But the point of this giant literary detour, was that the first show I ever wrestled at, was in Allendale.

The Angus Tait Memorial Hexham Hobble, held at Allendale Primary School is in its 25th year this year (I think?). It is named after the race’s first winner – the late Angus Tait – who passed suddenly in 2010. He lives on not only through this eponymous race, but also in the form of the trophies. When he won the first race he was disappointed at the lack of a trophy for his efforts, so he found an old running shoe, spray-painted it gold, and attached it to a wooden plinth. A sentiment that the race organisers (The Allen Valley Runners) have wonderfully recreated with new, professionally cast and mounted, golden trainer trophies.
The course is a fast 10.5 miles and 1200ft ascent, on road, Landrover track and muddy path, over and round Hexham Common. With 220 entries it’s definitely a popular event and rightfully so. The cake selection alone merits the journey from Leeds.
As always, I’m glad to see some familiar faces – I spot an old climbing friend, Joe Spoor, who tells me he “does a bit of running in the winter.” Before smashing his way home with a top 20 finish (classic Geordie understatement, eh).
With the weather looking good – cool and dry – everyone jostles over to the start, and we’re off. Joe shoots off at the front of the pack and my suspicions of his superior ability are confirmed, “see you in an hour and a half” I shout.
The race starts fast and keeps it that way. None of the inclines are steep enough to justify walking (a rarity for me), so much to my chagrin I run the whole lot.
The terrain might not be the most titillating, and you aren’t faced with beautiful vistas of great mountains but the low mist sweeping across the Northumbrian moor is breathtaking. Definitely a secret I’m happy to keep. But as wonderful as is it, the landscape soon becomes irrelevant. My legs are working as hard as they can, and the spare thoughts and observations floating around in my head drop off one by one, until I’m consumed by bodily response. My thighs feel dull, unaccustomed to this steady high cadence, but they keep stamping out the beat. I speed up to nip past someone on a stretch of wide path – the proximity to my limit becomes apparent as this momentary overexertion sends my legs trembling for the next five minutes. We pass over the highpoint on Lilswood Moor, and it’s onto the slightly undulating, but mostly downhill second half. Head down and keep spinning the legs. Up the blip of Stobb Cross and it’s tarmac hell to the finish. Almost two miles of ever steepening asphalt. You’ve got to keep your pace or you’ll find yourself flying headfirst down the hill – gravity forcing you to punt your legs underneath you to avoid full body road rash. Back into town, pull a right and you’re pointed into the pen. Done. Absolutely burst. I even stagger my way past the other finishers, fearing some sort of internal bodily mutiny threatening to explode out of me.
20 minutes of bewildered staggering around later, I’m drinking a cup of tea and enjoying a giant wedge of coffee cake. Couldn’t be happier. I even won a pair of socks in the raffle. Quids in.

Pics:
Cake, Jimmy Wilde, Failing to topple Andrew Ord (in red) and me actually running.

Apologies if these are getting too long. lol.

4 Attachments

Keep them that interesting and I’d read pages of your posts. I enjoyed that immensely.

Eee, keep that up an' ye'll make me blush.

Cheers!

I usually enjoy your posts but this was particularly nice for me - I'm actually from exactly that area. I spent most of my young life living between Alnwick and Rothbury, and a fair wack of my teen years getting too drunk at those country fairs and wandering home along dark lanes. Some of the names you've mentioned definitely sound familiar too. Your post captured Northumberland really nicely and I think accurately, so thanks for that! Though I have to agree, it's nice that it's still a bit secret... Besides all that it was a great tale, I had no idea about the boxing booths. I'm really glad you enjoyed the county for what it is.

Good run, also! Please don't shy away from writing more.

+1, keep these posts coming!

Awesome posts.

This is tremendous. There's a name in there I recognise from a long long long way back.

In my more prosaic running life I ventured up to the A group at our club and didn't get dropped, which was an achievement.

Thanks mate, it really means a lot. Especially from a local!
I’m glad they get read and people enjoy them.

Big cheers everyone, you’ve all made my night.