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And now for the promised quiz:- Question 1.
‘1971 National Road Relay at Sutton Park, but who am I handing over to?’
Dear Mr. Glob,
I was going to address you as ‘Dear Sir’ but that seems to be taking our new formality to an extreme that our friendship does not necessitate. My lack of communication during the last few days has been brought about by my vacation in Gods Own Country. Despite there being a cafe next door to the cottage I am vacating in (no joke), they do not have a Wii connection so I have been off line.
Surely, even you must admit that the mud was a bit unusual on Saturday last at Alton Towers in the National Cross Country Championships. So what? It was advertised as cross country I believe. The National is nearly always muddy, and mud is just mud is just mud?? I do not know the reason for the curtailment of the women’s race or the shortening of the men’s but, in my dotage, I feel the whole saga is symptomatic of what is happening to our sport. Sad uncle. The senior women not running much more than 20 minutes? Think of those poor girls who had tried to prepare diligently during the dark winter months by gearing their training to a hard slog with two vicious hills, only to be confronted by three (?) laps on the top of the hill – not flat admittedly, but nothing like the expected course. And three laps?? I was at the far corner of the course trying to keep my feet dry, my socks clean and my trainers unmudded and they only passed me twice. I probably missed the third loop because I was so busy blogging you?
As I noted at the start of my blob to you, I spent a week in God’s Own Country, up in Wharfedale where I used to train when I started running many, very many years ago. Instead of the hard dark millstone grit of previous visits, the softer white limestone dominated the landscape this week.
On Sunday I went along the banks of the Wharfe, with not a soul to be seen for most of the run. The agenda was a simple trudge down to the Abbey, on one side of the river, over the bridge by the Cafe, and then back up the other side. I saw one runner, who passed me early in my session; another symptom of the malaise in our sport I feel; no acknowledgement; no friendly grunt; not even a spit in my direction. And on a morning, with the birds singing their hearts out, the river flowing menacingly in high spate following the fast melt of the four inch snow fall of the previous day, the young lambs bleating with the novelty of life and the cows letting everyone know how pleased they were to be out for their first taste of fresh grass this year, you may ask me what was he wearing? A good question. He was wearing earphones!! How sad was that? Whatever it was that was being pumped into his cranium, it was incomparable to what nature had to offer. Gratis.
And so the next day it snowed. The driving wind helped freeze my face in minutes of starting; the swans had got their hats on, the mallards were wearing earmuffs and the fish had frozen fingers. But I did see five individual joggers out exorcising their souls, one was in shorts; they breed them tough up here!! Or is it the inbreeding which causes such stupidity?
Tuesday:- The climb up to Simon’s Seat from Howgil is steeper than I remembered but I am quietly pleased with myself as I didn’t have to stop. Actually that’s a moot point because the speed on some of the steeper sections could have lead to my being arrested for ‘loitering with intent’ [to grab some fresh air and run]. Luckily for me, no member of the local constabulary was nearby; in fact I didn’t see a single policeman during the whole two and a half hours. I bet that has something to do with the cuts of that nice Mr Cameroon. The path erosion up here is extreme. Huge problems are being stacked up for the future if something constructive isn’t done soon to remedy the wear and tear by man and nature. The run down the Valley of Desolation took its toll on my shins and knees. On rubber legs I got back to Barden Bridge where a couple of bikers (in leather not lycra) gave me a ‘Up one, two, three’. Now I haven’t heard that for years and years. I felt inclined to stop and tell them to ‘Get real chaps’ but I was not too happy about the way their salivating pit-bull was slobbering over my ankles. I though a ‘Good Morning’ would show them that I bore them no animosity and thought they would be rather pleased that I was encouraged by their comments. I didn’t think to ask them how they had got such a brute there; a backie or saddle? Back along the river to Burnsell; kingfisher, heron, goosander, sod off, I’m too tired.
Mid week:- When we hired a canal boat for a day on the Leeds-Liverpool Canal, I had totally forgotten about the lock closures of last summer, first from the drought then due to the scheduled impending winter maintenance. The canal was still not back to normal operations. However, flat out at 4mph, it didn’t matter too much. At that speed, I wasn’t going to get very far and the boat was able to keep up with me fairly easily.
Thursday was pencilled in for a few hill efforts along the banks of an old dam which used to serve as the power source for the paper mill at Skyreholme. Except at weekends, the pathway was always totally deserted. Nearly always. Years back I was doing reps with a senior member of my running club along the sheep cropped dam side causeway. In previous days we had racked up the miles and he was suffering agony at the top of his legs from the repeated chaffing from his shorts. Vaseline afforded no relief. In desperation he discarded his shorts and ran the reps in his jockstrap!! (that’s OK between consenting athletes) Less than half the session complete, a troop of Girl Guides happened to pass by ... slowly. I believe they were on a nature ramble. Poor Pete had nowhere to hide his blushes; his cheeks had gone quite red! I wonder what badge the guides got. Ballroom dancing?
Friday had to be down to the Abbey again, but the Wharfe was still too swollen to allow a crossing by using the stepping stones. A shame. I wondered what the monks used to do when the river ran high. I suppose they decided on a session that avoided the river crossing. You can’t start a session in wet sandals, can you? And the straps do rub so. Running reps around the cloisters in closed order?
After the week of jogging, I do feel pretty confident that Aim 3 will be achieved.
Watch out Madge,
watch out Emil,
watch out Roger,
watch out Highly,
You won’t know what hit you.
Colin
P.S. To raise more money for the two charities, TINY TIMS and NEWLIFE, I am trying to sort out a few odds and ends to sell on e-bay, mostly running related. DETAILS TO FOLLOW.
Tiny Tims (reg char no. 1095737 www.tinytimcentre.co.uk ) and Newlife (reg char no. 1001817 http://www.newlifecharity/) Tell your friends Spread the word Please
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