Running

Has anyone here done the Ealing Half? £46 seems like a lot of money to run round the suburbs.

Nearly £50 for a half? Get fucked

I've recently paid £40 for a 10k (Fulham City run) but that's as I plan on beating a friend of mine who's always been faster than me.

(The white top you get will also be good for 5-a-side footy.)

I've been looking at various events throughout the year.

Any number of them are offering £40+ for a run that you might ordinarily do after work.

I'm going to turn up to park run and start charging.

No, but I know many people who have. I imagine most of the costs come from closing the roads in a relatively busy part of west London. It's a very friendly half.

@rhb - he should have had a balloon; he was good.

Yesterday was my third London and probably the most enjoyable. I know that two years ago when I had put loads of pressure on myself I hated the crowds. I remember getting a headache to complement the aching legs and sore torso as we went through Canary Wharf. Yesterday though it was very different; I went out to enjoy it and embraced people shouting my name -I'm one of those dickheads with their name on their vest. Hearing your name and encouragement shouted by someone you know is still much better.

The actual race went much much better than expected. The aforementioned clubmate and I went through halfway in 1.20 then he held on while I faded slightly to 2.40.40. So, I highly recommend putting no pressure whatsoever on yourself, doing one 20 mile+ run in the build up and having a couple of weeks off injured.

Hearing your name and encouragement shouted by someone you know is still much better.

I can imagine it's great encouragement if you're still actually *running*.

(That and passing those people at 3 times the speed.)

Great run!

Great run, nice one. I was particularly pleased to see a whole bunch of Kent AC sub-2:45 hopefuls ALL smash their targets to a man. And most of them hugely improved in recent times. I'm aiming to get back to track - tomorrow - to sneak in a low-key session while you're all nursing aching limbs. I've got some catching up to do.

@Arducius - Fantastic PB smashing!

In the build up to Leeds half next weekend I pushed too hard on a long run on easter weekend (19.5km in a good time for me) and I seem to have caused a flare up in ITB issues.
I've been resting from running (still commuting by bike and occasional low intensity ride) since then. I tried our last long-ish run this morning (75 minutes) and got to around 37 minutes before my knee was sore enough that I thought it was wise to stop. I probably could have struggled around but I imagine it'd have been unwise.

What should be my plan? I'm stretching whenever I'm warm from exercise, and intend on foam rolling my legs (not specifically my itb).

An added concern is that there'll be a fair bit of descending in Leeds, and I'm not well conditioned to hill running at all. Especially bad for ITB, I think.

Sorry to hear. Had you replaced your trainers? Downhill isn't fun with ITB trouble, correct. I can meet up & show you some specific stretches that may help a bit if you like?

I haven't replaced them no. I don't want to put you out, don't worry, just as long as stretches and rest should be my general plan?

Ok no worries. Stretching and strengthening the connecting bits & core should help too, but as with all these things Physio would be best shout. If your trainers are old & battered (I can't remember) then do consider replacing as using them further might not help.

I used to have ITB issues and I think I fixed it by side stepping with a big rubber band around both ankles.

My foot still hurts from doing three 5k swims (breaststroke) about a month ago. I can run, but walking the next days hurts. As a result I've not bothered doing much, and tonight the fridge and cans of beer beat my desire to run. Obviously I'll blame my kids for it.

Short term I'm not sure there's much you can do beyond stretching and resting, although I'd also recommend looking up "Walt Reynold's ITB special" as a strengthening exercise to help stave off ITBS long-term. I think it helped my recovery the only time I've had it, and it's never come back after many years.

My first track session this evening since December, and it was no worse than I feared, pace actually not too bad even though I definitely felt some fitness loss . 10 x 400, 200 recovery, avg 75, no rep slower than 76. Should be good to get back to regular interval training now, whilst keeping an eye on the dodgy foot which seems to be behaving itself.

The 65th Yorkshire Three Peaks. A rather long winded account.
AL, 23 miles, 5000ft, “The Marathon with Mountains”. First completed as a recorded route in 1887 by three teachers from Giggleswick in 10 hours, and run as a race from 1954, it’s definitely not a new kid on the block. It’s one of those races that comes up enough in conversation that I felt obliged as a Yorkshire resident to give it a shot, perhaps just to appease those who ask if I’ve done it when the subject comes up!
The weeks before the race had the typical British micro season of Fool’s Summer – the burst of unseasonal heat that tricks everyone into thinking that winter is over before it roars back with a vengeance. I decided to plod my way round the course as a training run, as my weekly mileage hadn’t been fitting for someone hoping to fit plenty of ALs in this summer, and my holiday to Texas for a friend’s wedding was still evident when I stood on the scales each morning. It was two weeks before the race, which is the minimum timeframe for adaptation and recovery according to some vague memory of something I read (a highly scientific method I’m sure you’ll agree). So off to Horton in Ribblesdale I went. Any hopes of catching the cool morning air were long gone as I faffed my way to a 1pm start. I was baked by the sun from start to finish; having to take the long way up Whernside didn’t help either (the direct route up is reserved for race day only). 26.2 miles in total gave me a marathon tick for the day, but the heat had cooked me out of making cutoff times – not really the reassuring recce that I’d hoped for. My legs had cramped and faltered, and I felt like I’d taken a beating far beyond what the numbers suggested. These three mountains were merely half of what I was used to in the Lake District, yet I was a hobbling mess upon my return to the car. Too late to fix anything now though, nothing left to do but rest up and hope for cooler weather.
And cooler weather we got. A cold front came sweeping across the country, bringing torrential rain and high winds. Fool’s Summer had ended and the cold chill of True British Summer had arrived. I’d always posited that I performed better in cold weather, citing my unfailing ability to produce gallons on sweat in anything but the dreichest of conditions, and The 65th Yorkshire Three Peaks was looking to be the control test.
I felt awful in the week leading up to the race. I woke up with a stirring in my stomach every day, followed by a dash to the bog to complete my morning ablutions. Better an empty house than an angry tenant, I guess. Race day was to be no different. I could barely touch my muesli, my stomach in knots as I ran around the flat packing my bags. Grabbing gels, clean socks and any other random items that popped into my mind, before stuffing them into an array of plastic bags in a pile by the door. I was planning to drive on from the race to Haweswater to hike up to Mosedale Cottage Bothy for the night, so a rucksack of overnight gear had to be assembled as well. The packing of which had to be slightly more stringent, accounting for my tattered post-race legs on the steep trudge up to the cottage. Spirits were decanted from glass into plastic bottles, mixers and low strength beverages left behind. Bang for your buck in terms of weight vs toxicity was the order of the day. Finally, sleeping bag and mat were wrestled into place atop the makeshift cocktail bar, the rucksack clearly too small for its already spartan kit-list, and with that I threw it all in the boot of my trusty Astra and sped off to the race.
My extra packing and taking the wrong exit on a roundabout had eaten into my already slim amount of spare time. I arrived and parked up in the field, sprinting to the tent to collect my number and race pack, then straight to the queue for the bogs. With the clock ticking and the announcers directing the runners to attend the safety briefing on the tannoy, I was starting to worry about being late to the start line. With barely a moment to spare I finally arrived at the front of the queue and dashed into the first available cubicle. The otherworldly relief of reaching the plastic throne was soon marred by the predicament of the distinct lack of paper consumables. All of a sudden the slow movement of the queue had been explained, as I found myself in the same dilemma that all those in front of me had just minutes before. Tiny scraps of bog roll tube strewn across the floor told the story clearly enough. Fortunately for me, the Y3P organisers are an eco friendly bunch – doling out the race packs in hand paper bags. Andrex triple-ply, quilted luxury it is not, but it’s better than sacrificing a fancy running sock.
Liberated of my demons, there’s just enough time for a kit check before merging into the horde heading for the start. I join my mate Bill Beckett and we exchange out lists of woes: he’s nursing a sore calf and my guts feel like they’re on strike. Perfect partners really, both just hoping to get round without major mishap and relishing the opportunity of some mutual encouragement in the less than favourable conditions. The start gun fires almost abruptly, and the sea of bobbing heads drags out the field and onto the road. The usual enthusiastic pace of the pack builds as we snake through the village towards the path, “I don’t fancy keeping this up” I confess to Bill, and thankfully he agrees. Things begin to settle as the terrain roughens and the angle steepens. The expected jostling and shuffling happens as the pack finds its natural order heading up to Pen y Ghent – something I always find interesting that even at this early stage the order won’t change that drastically over the next 20 miles, everyone knows their place I guess. As the climb begins in earnest, the wind and rain come to meet us, no longer sheltered by the landscape that falls around the mountain, we’re exposed to its meteorological charms. Calls of “Runner!” bounce down to meet us as the race leaders shoot past, Bill offering a who’s who of elite fell runners, encouraging most of them by name. As we gain height, the elements build in ferocity, and passing the summit, Bill politely questions if I’d like to stop and put my jacket on – he’s far too nice to tell me I’m being an idiot and that I NEED to put my jacket on. Pulling down onto the grassy slopes, I concede and awkwardly wriggle into my smock, but without stopping running. This is completely stupid and a fine way to break an ankle, but what can I say? There’s a reason I’m not a rocket scientist . . .
We regain the main path and pass the remaining runners heading up to the summit. Back over the junction and onto the path towards Whernside. We’ve got a couple of cutoffs to make before the next climb and I’m glad to have Bill pacing us over this flat section. I haven’t done any road miles at all recently and I can feel it. Bill tells me that according to Darren Fishwick, the key is to get a couple of decent 8-10 mile road runs a week when training for the race, a strategy he used to run himself into a PB on the course. Good knowledge to have, albeit a bit late now! It’s a funny bit of the race really; I found it probably the most uncomfortable section on the hard and flat ground and without Bill keeping us going steady I could have easily drifted into missing the cutoff. It seems daft that the hard bit of a race that goes up three mountains is on the flats between them! At least the weather is more favourable down here, with even an occasional, if momentary, bit of sunlight breaking through the clouds.
We pass through High Birkwith, dibbing in, chucking down a cup of water, scoffing some food, and hitting the track again. We’re 15 minutes ahead of cutoff – closer than I’d like but through nonetheless. The Ribblehead Viaduct appears in the distance where our next checkpoint and cutoff is located. The one advantage of the flat terrain is the miles fall by a bit quicker, the mental tally of remaining distance happily diminishing as we go. However, when we hit the road before Ribblehead, it seems to arrive with a thump. My studded fell shoes seem to whack the tarmac with every stride. But grinding as we go, we sweep round below the mighty viaduct and dib into safety ahead of the cutoff. Some familiar faces in the crowd offer energetic encouragement, and I try to cover my withering state, both for their benefit and my own. Fortunately it isn’t long before the angle starts to increase again, and although my calves start to creak from the miles on the flat, my quads are soon back in familiar territory heading up Whernside. On race day the route takes a highly direct line to the summit, rather than the wide arc of the tourist path. During my recce, I’d become a bit unstuck on this variation. The lower angle and increased distance make it a lot more runnable, but after the previous flat miles my legs were having none of it and had cramped with a vengeance. No such problem today though, the plod-plod-plod of slugging it uphill was a much needed return to familiar territory.
Blustery winds and smiling marshals greet us at the top, as we swiftly turn and drop onto the descent. I briefly lose Bill as he liberates a stone from inside his shoe, smashing down the erosion friendly but knee smashing limestone paving. I try not to speed ahead, but gravity’s natural velocity has other thoughts. The route flattens again and my exuberant descent makes its effects known in my legs, as I jump and click my ankles together for a photographer – instantly almost crippling myself with cramp. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Trundling into the checkpoint at the Hill Inn, Bill reappears and we make sure to properly replenish ourselves – the warning shots of cramp ever present as I try and smash some nutrients and fluid back into my body.
The last one is in sight now – only Inglebrough left to go. I try not to think about much longer way back down on the other side. The landscape looks weirdly filmic as we head past Pot Holes, the rain has cleared any humidity from the air and coated the rock in a thin reflective sheen – everything looks crystal clear. It’s a bit of a romp as the angle increases, the thick limestone slabs grey and slippery, before reaching the rougher and steeper final climb. Tiny steps and consistent cadence are key, any big steps threaten the cramp that many runners around me are falling victim to. Their groans, pained faces and halted progress painting an all too familiar picture. As we reach the summit plateau, we’re absolutely smashed by the headwind. The chill is instant, muscles clenching to try and stave off the bite of the wind. I try and gain momentum with my arms, no doubt looking like some ridiculous power walker as my elbows oscillate in such an unnatural fashion. Hoping that the extra movement will generate the slightest extra bit of warmth. In my haste to keep warm I pull ahead of Bill but he gallantly tells me just to go on ahead. From there it’s a quick dib on the summit, before turning round and hammering back to town. The fierce wind now thankfully in my back as I do my best to holler a raspy salute of encouragement as I pass Bill. Running down, it’s off the plateau, over some rougher rocky sections before getting back on hard flat track. Feet pounding down, trying to keep speed to save energy, while simultaneously trying to avoid overstepping into cramp. More thick limestone pavement to stomp down, and I even manage to pass some runners. It’s all going well until it flattens out again and my legs seem to lose the enthusiasm they had while descending. The slightly uneven, rocky and muddy ground seems to rob me of what tiny energy is left. I see a couple of runners in front taking tumbles (both regaining their feet and continuing unbothered, fortunately), making the need to stay focused ever more pertinent.
After what seems like an age dragging my feet over the flat, the village reappears and the path becomes a descent once more. Last burn now. I can feel a big smile across my face as the last kilometer ticks by. Through the garden, over the road and into the field. I even had the beans for a sprint finish. A final dib and we’re done.
A quick change, a fantastic bowl of chili, a sugary cup of tea and a fat slab of cake later, and I’m back on the road. The race was over, but the next had just begun – trying to get to Mosedale Cottage Bothy before nightfall. Fortunately I was parked up at Haweswater, armed with my rucksack and walking poles, and on my way up with plenty time. I guess a lot people wouldn’t be keen on having to hike anther 1500’ in the rain to get to their bed for the night, but with some good tunes in my ears, and walking poles in my hands to share the load for my legs, I couldn’t have been happier. An incredible day, in incredible places – I’m just glad to live in a place with such a rich environment.
As always, a monumental thanks to all the marshals and helpers out in such minging conditions. I feel incredibly lucky to be part of a sport that is supported by such willing and giving individuals. Cheers!

I'm so glad I just looked at this page!
What a fantastic write up!

When I read ‘long winded’ I went and got another beer... worth it, evocative as always.

Thanks for the kind words, always glad to know they get read.

keep up the good work (running and writing)

There are loads of great write ups in this thread that deserve a blog. They just get lost in the churn. That is one of my aims to get started in the next few weeks.

Nice! We can all (most likely) relate to the pre-race portaloo problems!

I've not many chances for long time on feet days ahead of Escape from GB so have been on a bit of a successive long/double/triple run day binge to build fatigue and a bit of mental resilience. It has been an interesting experience, the later runs usually delivering a low point that takes some getting through with the other side worth reaching. What has been surprising is the freshness 'reset' each new day brings, so sleep is defo in the plan for the 48hrs, even if it won't offer the same as a shorter nap.

280 miles on foot in April +1st May, happy with that.

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Brilliant 👏

Sorry for the shameless plug, but if someone fancies running the Hackney Half, I've got a number for sale!

Solid mileage!!! When is it?

Lothersdale Fell Race last night. Short and sharp, 5.8km/180m. Didn't warm up properly (thought I had, mind), and was hanging on for dear life. I had decided to just go out as hard as I could and to try and hang on for as long as possible. Legs were clearly still recovering from the weekend, and it wasn't quite the blaze of glory I had maybe hoped for, but decent enough.

My body is still in shock. Average hr or 174! Keen to see the results as I had to scarper home for dinner.