Birmingham and District Cross Country League Results November 10th 2012

Hold it Blog,

              This Secret jogger blogger lark has to be put on hold for a couple of days … sorry about that but …. Today was the first Birmingham and District league race of the season, and as usual for the first fixture all division ran together. The event was at Leamington’s Newbold Comyn on a course similar to the one used for the National Cross Country Championships twice in the 1920s. I mention that fact because the first Championships nearly ended before it began because after about 400 yeards (400 metres to you Blog) the whole field was filtered through a narrow gateway which caused such a bottle neck that fists were thrown and fighting among the competitors broke out. Utter chaos! Couldn’t happen again?? Officials learn from past mistakes. So it came as no surprise that the 700 runners were filtered on to a narrow path after 400 yards (400 metres to you Blog) which caused such a bottle neck that the last half of the field were queuing to get through the narrow section, the water jump, the narrow pathway; slowed to a walking pace or a complete stand still!!! A passage of 90 years means that the runners have learnt a lesson and all were quite gentlemanly about the proceedings!!!

But … ever felt like tearing your hair out Blog. Sorry. No offence meant. It is just an expression. Nothing to do with you being folliclely challenged. Allow me to rephrase ..

Ever felt like screaming? Felt steam coming out of your ears? And the cause of my frustration … all these club coaches with arms and legs and chests and hats covered with badges ‘cos they all know what they are doing … every time I trudge from the club, this week, last week, every week, all their athletes are running up hills, here, there, and everywhere. So what are all these coaches actually doing with all these athletes running up hills, here, there and everywhere? Dare I suggest that the athletes running up hills, here, there and everywhere might get a little benefit from running up hills, here, there and everywhere if they were to use their arms to help them run up hills, here, there and everywhere? I don’t have a badge but it is bleeding obvious what to do when you run up hills, here, there and everywhere. Arms. Use your arms. No need for an I.Q. of galactic proportions. Simple logic. Common sense? Newton said something about action and reaction and he didn’t have any badges either. Neither was he much of an athlete although he was a down to earth sort of chap and he was pretty handy with his bow and arrow when he shot Billy’s apple straight through the pips.

And don’t these coaches tell their athletes what to wear when they compete in cross country races. SPIKES. Not all-weather track spikes. Not flats. But spikes with long spikes in to help run on slippery grass land, run up hill, run through mud. Not a badge in sight ..  no need for an I.Q. of galactic proportions. Simple logic. Common sense?

And once again when we had acres and acres and acres of grass land to run across, the officials still had that irresistible urge to send the athletes along a stretch of compacted trackway …three times .. but with a small verge, so it could have been worse!!!

But it was a beautiful day and the view from the hill top by the beacon was as stunning as ever. And I did get in a bit of fast slow when shouting on my club mates.

                                 Colin

A SECRET

Dear Blog,

    You know me Blog, how I am dead keen to be in the swing of things, leading innovations whenever possible, on the cutting edge of new trends, in the van as my old Latin master used to say. Well, I don’t know whether you have noticed Blog, but it seems to me that the latest bandwagon to leave town in the newspapers and in the various magazines, is this business of a ‘Secret Reporter’!!! The Guardian newspaper had a ‘Secret Footballer’ for yonks; now we have ‘Secret This’ and ‘Secret That’ and ‘Secret The Other’ in whatever magazine you open while standing reading at the Smiths Newsagents magazine rack in town. They are all at it!

 Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo….

Not wanting to be left out, I have decided to become your ‘Secret Jogger’ Blog, or your ‘Secret Blogger’ Blog, a kind of latter day ‘Jogger Blogger’ or should that be a ‘Blogger Jogger’? Imagine how intrigued your friends around the world will be trying to detect the identity or your own personal ‘Secret Jogger’ Blog, or your own ‘Secret Blogger’ Blog, or your ‘Jogger Blogger’ or ‘Blogger Jogger’. In future letters to you I will have to lay false trails, drop spurious clues, give misleading information, suggest probable associates, intimate possible candidates. Oh what fun I shall have. And here’s the really cleaver bit Blog, the brilliant piece of double bluff … in future I shall sign my letters to you with ‘Colin’. That will really throw everyone off the scent, send them scurrying in the wrong direction, going round in ever decreasing circles until they end up running up their own counter point.

                                                Colin

P.S. A mathematical question for you to think about as you doze off to sleep tonight, Blog. Did Euclid call an ever decreasing circle a spiral? Or am I getting him confused with Eratosthenes? Or was he the bloke who used his sieve on the threads and strands of available information and invented spaghetti?? Or was it that well known Italian dish tarantella? Perhaps he used the spiders’ legs for the spaghetti? …… I’m off for a coffee ………..

What day did you say it was??

Photograph Quiz:

Photo number 126:- How was this neck tie changed to become the Godiva Harriers club tie? Who arranged the alterations? Which company obliged?

Dear Blog,

   I don’t know about you, but I must be getting old, inevitable, or feeling old, avoidable, illustrated by the sad sight of me trudging along not lifting my feet up, tripping up and rolling about in the gutter. The embarrassment is so acute that I am relieved that the winter nights are here again, cyclic, and I can creep out into the gloom, unseen to trudge to my heart’s content. And the aging process is nowhere exemplified better than the uncontrollable desire to reminisce. I start to recollect tales of yore and the glazed look appears on the face of my victim! I know they are bored, desparatly seeking a means of escape, but they are trapped. I know they are trapped. And they know that I know that they are trapped and I cannot stop. I show no mercy. It’s an addiction. Like a druggy needing another fix. It’s Lance all over again! You heard it here first Blog, reminiscing the new crack cocaine!!!

Another sign of my aging progress is the feeling of unease engendered by the Bank of England insistence of having dozens of different designs on the 50p coins … sort of smacks at a third world country’s attitude to gaining few bob at the expense of all the muggles who collect the said designs. Has anyone told that nice Mr Cameroon that the country’s economic woes are being caused by the Bank of England insistence in producing the multiple 50p designs, which the muggles collect, hoard away, thereby causing a chronic shortage of small change on the High Streets of this country. That nice Mr Cameroon’s friend, Ozzy Osbourne, could solve all our financial ills in one stroke; one 50p design only. Sorted.

 Another sign of my aging progress is observing the weeds growing between the sleepers on out railway lines … never saw that when I was a kid growing up in good old God’s county. Not that I can afford to travel on a railway train any more as I don’t have enough 50p pieces to pay. Can’t find the dam things! Weeds on the railways and at the road sides was something you saw at the pictures when there was a scene from Eastern Europe, or America on the cinema screen. Never in real life. And what about our postage stamps? When I collected stamps as a kid, [there we go reminiscing again. Come back Methuselah all is forgiven] a GB commemorative issue was a big deal. You got all these pretty coloured stamps from around the world, different shapes as well, but you could rely on the good old GB. Square. Liz steadfastly staring to the left, unfazed by the shade of dress she was wearing. There was an occasional variation in colour in the stamps when the printers ran short of supplies of a particular hue, post war austerity and all that, but shape and design was an unfailing, reliable part of life, with the occasional touch of excitement caused by a larger commemorative design, still with sober colouring, still with none of your flash African issue types.

Another sign of my aging progress is that I still miss the HP sauce bottle, with the French language on the side, the wonderment of being able to translate after a few weeks ‘doing’ French at Grammar School. Todays’ plastic squirty bottle is anathema … would you believe Blog, I still use a glass bottle for my HP sauce, decanting from the plastic monstrosity every time I run out. Fish and chips wouldn’t be fish and chips without my glass bottle of HP sauce. And have you ever tried to ask for a handful of scraps when you order your fish and chips, Blog? [there we go reminiscing again. Come back Methuselah all is forgiven] You are observed like you might observe some repulsive specimen that has just crawled out from beneath a stone on an unpleasant day in the Derbyshire Peak District. Scraps were standard with scone and chips when I was a kid. We were so poor, we could never afford a fish with our chips; we had to make do with a scone, ‘scone and chips please with a handful of scraps, please.’ A ‘scone’ Blog, pronounce ‘skown’, was a micro thin slice of fish, sandwiched between two micro thin slices of potato cooked in lard until it formed a crisp brown batter on the outside. A ‘scone’ Blog, pronounced ‘scon’ was a lump of cooked dough, sliced in half, buttered with strawberry jam. Although we were poor Blog, margarine pronounced ‘margareen’ was something advertised at the pictures (cinema to you Blog) and used by who knows who??? We bought out butter from the local grocer Mr Wicketer [we had great difficulty pronouncing Whitaker] who cut a chunk off a huge barrel shaped lump of butter with a long serrated knife and wrapped it up in grease proof paper. The great thing about Mr Wicketer was that he smoked. He smoked cigarettes. All the time. Non-stop. And at the end of his cigarette was a long drooping cylinder of ash which refused ever to drop off onto whatever he was cutting despite us putting all our efforts into willing it to fall onto the cheese, the bacon, the butter ...

Another sign of my aging progress is my deteriorating memory. For example, when I  ….. err???

                                           Colin

2012 National Cross Country Relay Results November 3rd

Photograph Quiz:

Photo number 125:- Which city actually did have a club called the ******** Night Harriers? What years did it exist?

Dear Blog,

     Went to the National Cross Country Relays on Saturday at Mansfield, and although I have competed in then a few times, I was never overly keen. Cross country for me was a means to a marathon end. Road relays I felt, were a valid component in preparation for a hard road slog. Ditto cross country races. But each to his own. One of my daughter’s was competing. On one hand there were thousands of athletes of all ages and all abilities from all over the country which was a great advertisement for our sport. But on the other hand, it was so sad to see the predicament that the local athletic club, Mansfield A.C., finds itself in. At the mercy of the Trustees of Berry Hill, the club is about to lose its facilities. Surely a case for the athletic authorities at national level to step in to help a local club. Pie in the sky??? Yes, let’s pass a law banning all those ear pieces in road races and let’s see if those races organisers managed to implement the unenforceable!!! Surely a case for the athletic authorities at national level to step in to help the local club by just scrubbing such stupid legislation or get stuck in and get it sorted. Pie in the sky??? Difficulty putting a road race on? Trouble with the local authority or the local police? Surely a case for the athletic authorities at national level to step in to help a local club sort out and help local clubs at grass roots level? Pie in the sky??? An awards dinner for officials for this, that and the other. Wow, what a brilliant idea. What sort of pie shall we have for sweet? An awards dinner for athletes for this, that and the other. Wow, what a brilliant idea. What sort of pie shall we have for sweet? Oh, and while we are at it, lets stick the affiliation fee up. What about 100%? Or 200%? Or 300 %? Will it be enough to cover the costs of our awards dinners?

So Mansfield does a good job for the sport at grass level. Sign their petition Blog.

Sunday morning was the first monthly races of the Centurion A.C series. The other daughter was competing. My granddaughter couldn’t wait to run in the Fun Run. She said I could run with her next month if I do some proper training????? Did she spend last week running up all those hills in Wales and then have the hassle of sneaking back across the border at midnight to avoid customs with all the rarebits we’d smuggled in the back of the car? No she did not!

Sunday afternoon, I looked like Mr Blobby with all the clothes I was wearing while I acted as marshal at the Midland Walking League in Coventry. Had to do some fancy driving between the two events to make the latter in time for the start of the race walk. Spent most of the race shepherding dozens of mallards from the local pond away from the path of the walkers!!! Blog, I kid you not. A right pest, they were. I could make some crack about waddling, but I will refrain. It is a long time since I did a race walk. I am tempted to have another go!!! Very tempted. Watch this space.

Made my last will and testament this morning. Seriously Blog, I made my last will and testament this morning. Told the solicitor fellow that I wanted to be cremated with all my old running shoes. He said that would not be possible as it would create too much pollution. And besides, my running shoes would create too much smell.

                             Colin

Training ... traming??

Dear Blog,

     As you may know, in God’s own county, a spade is called a spade. No messing about the bush, a spade. S-P-A-D-E. Pure and simple. So you expect that when you want to visit a tramway, you expect a tramway. As a kid, a tram could be a sort of bus running on rails sunk in the road. Like in Bradford. No messing about the bush, a tram. T-R-A-M. Pure and simple. O.K. it could be a trackless, a tram without rails in the road, the power fed from over-head tram lines suspended above the streets. Like in Leeds. No messing about the bush, a trackless. T-R-A-C-K-L-E-S-S-. Pure and simple. And in the summer as kids, we would visit Shipley Glen and catch the tram for the cost of a 1d ride, the tram taking us from the bottom of the glen to the top. In this case a cable car, the oldest in Britain, the cable attached to the underneath of the car pulling one car up while the weight was counter balanced by another car coming down on a parallel rail. No messing about the bush C-A-B-L-E-C-A-R. Pure and simple. If we were extremely lucky, we had a day out at Scarborough where we could watch the funicular tram. Watch because we could not afford to go on it! No messing about the bush F-U-N-I-C-U-L-A-R. Pure and simple. So in God’s own county, a tram is called a tram is called a tram, and you expect a tram, no messing.

But these Welshies are coy. Round and round the bush we go, bush we go, bush we go. Round and round the bush we go, this wet morn. Go on our tramway they urge. Sounds good! Ride in comfort up the side of a mountain, thinks I, sit back on the padded seats, enjoy the views. After this morning’s knackering trudge in the rain, a pleasant ride up hill letting the train take the strain and perhaps a gentle stroll down is just what the coach has ordered! So we gets there. Where’s the train? Where’s the tram? Tramway boyo, not tram. The Welshie explains that the tramway ceased to operate a couple of hundred years ago!!! You mean we have missed the tram???? We are too late?? So we climb up … and up … and up …. and up. And the ground, it gets wetter … and wetter .. and boggier … and even boggier.

But the view was worth it.

And the race down to beat the storm was exhilarating.

                                               Colin

Foreign Holidays

Blog,

I don’t know about you Blog, but I do love going on holiday to foreign countries; the excitement of the airport, the smell of kerosene and boarding the plane; or driving into the depths of a ferry boat, the smell of the sick on a rough sea crossing; passing through customs watched by those beady eyed officials making you feel a pang of guilt although guilty of no offence; the new smells and sounds of a foreign country; the different foods; the foreign language and the struggle to be understood. For an autumn break the decision was just where to go. Ferry to France? A flight to Florence? We decided on a visit to Wales. Most of the natives speak a sort of pigeon English, so making oneself understood is not too difficult if supplemented with a few hand gestures. The border crossing is simplification itself, never are you asked to show your passport; I suspect that may be more to do with being fellow citizens of Oceania that cross border cooperation between King Offa and Queen Boudicca? None of this Euro business, when buying supplies in shops. Slip them a couple of new pence here and a quid there and they are quite happy. They are fascinated by all the corners on a fifty pence piece, they spend hours in competition with each other trying to stand the coins on their edge, something to do with the squashed ball syndrome they caught playing football I suppose. The food is similar to ours with a few notable exceptions … you should see what they do with a rabbit, a rare treat if you are into that sort of thing. However it does tend to rain about twenty five hours a day and the sheep do wear wellies as well as thick woolly coats. Why that Dick Llewellyn bloke asked that stupid question is beyond me. The answer is bleeding obvious. Your valley matey boyo, is green because you get so much bleeding rain; the grass hasn’t a chance to stop growing. The green, green grass of home. Never heard of it?

That nice Mr Cameroon’s friend at school, Mr Gorse, could learn a trick or two from the Welsh education system. The Welsh combine learning to drive with learning a foreign language. Multi-tasking in lifelong learning! Is that clever Blog, or is that clever? As the Welshes drive along their roads, the English equivalent word is explained to them on all the road signs. It is the same in shops; the Welsh shoppers are told what the English word is for each item. I suppose that is why most of them speak that sort of pigeon English, enough to make themselves understood to the jonhny foreigners without getting their feathers ruffled.

 They do have a great many bridleways, I suppose the natives still use them for their packhorses when the villagers trade with each other. Steep to trudge up and a bit dodgy to trudge down … gives you shin soreness after a couple of days!!!

Marathon tip for you Blog … remember you heard it first here, tomorrow you can read it in one of those running magazines things but never will it be recommended by one of those full arm badges whollhas.        TIP=> If you get shin soreness Blog, in one or both legs, usually caused by unaccustomed downhill running, buy yourself a couple of elasticated ankle socks from the chemists, the very tight elasticated supports. Used these on your shins!!!!!!!! Not your ankles!!!!!!!!!! Pull them up and over the ankle until they are all used around the calf and shin. Tight .. yes. TIGHT. Keep these in place all day. Only jog on grass for a couple of days to give the muscle membrane chance to knit back onto the bone, for it was the vibration of down-hill impact that caused the periosteum  to become slightly detached from the bone which is causing the injury problem. DON’T keep the socklets on when you go to bed [cramp and circulation restriction]. And watch for swelling in the feet caused by the tight bandages. Don’t be conned into the usual use of those pathetic elasticated bandages for support, they are not tight enough. In simple terms the tight ankle socks are helping quicken the re-sticking process of the flesh and bone …... cough up quids to see these blokes who give you a quick rub down if you don’t believe me Blog. It’s your quids and weeks of appointments rather than my three day cure. Please yourself Blog. Sustificutes are impressive when framed and hung on the wall? But do not forget where you first heard this advice at a cost of no quids!!

My latest quids making scheme Blog, is to start up an export business to Wales. I am unsure whether to buy a fleet of lorries to trans ship the goods or hire out the required number of lorries in case the Welshies are short of cash in these hard Financial Times. I am going to crate up thousands and thousands of vowels. They should sell like hot cakes. If you have ever been to Wales Blog, you will realise how short they are of all five vowels. Vowels are a scarce commodity. Rather than send all five at once, I thought I would test out the market, dip my toe in the water, see what the demand is, so to speak. So I thought I would send a few bundles of I.O.Us to gauge what response I get. And the really clever part of this scheme is that, for the return journey, I will fill the lorries up with bags of local ‘L’s. The Welshies have millions of the things. Whenever they see a word, they dash up and slap an extra ‘L’ on it. It’s a nationall complllaint, I don’t think they can help it!! In fact, I don’t think that they even reallllise that they are doing it. The only downside to this scheme is that I might have a helluva time getting them across the border, passed the customs officers; especially if someone leeks to the authorities what I am trying to do. It is not unusual for certain Welshies to sing to the authorities over such matters, some boy from nowhere wanting to make a name for himself.

                                                               Colin

Marathon Training Tips no. 3

Photograph Quiz:

Photo number 124:- Place in order of age – old, older, oldest and Dorian Grey.

 Dear Blog,

                  Make yourself a mug of coffee, find a comfortable chair, sit back, close your eyes and picture the scene ………………

                    Oh look at all those runners jogging single file on that narrow country path, next to the plough …. You can run on the plough Blog. Well done. And when you improve, try doing it in heavy shoes / boots …

               Oh look at all those runners jogging in their light trainers so that it is nice and easy …. You can run in your heaviest trainers Blog. Well done.

         Oh look at all those runners running up a hill and jogging back down …. You can run up the hill Blog, but when you get to the top, carry on for another 25 yards (25 metres to you Blog). Well done.

  Oh look at all those runners running up a hill and jogging back down …. You can run up the hill Blog, but when you get to the top, do a set of jack jumps / star jumps / etc., a different set of 10 after each effort …now that is oxygen debt. Well done.

Oh look at all those runners stripped out to shorts and vest for a burn up …. You can run keep your track suit on Blog, but when you get used to a bit of sweat, put your wet suit on instead. (25 metres to you Blog). Well done.

Oh look at all those runners running on the tarmac paths around the park with that nicely mown grass alongside. …. You can run on the grass Blog.  Well done.

Oh look at all those runners running on the tarmac paths along the main road with that nice grass  verge alongside. …. You can run on the verge Blog.  Well done.

Oh look at all those nice fresh runners running reps on the track in the evening …. You can run an early morning run Blog. No you do not go straight out when you get out of bed. Give yourself a bit of time first to wake up (a nice cup of black tea).

Oh look at all those runners running carrying a recovery drink while they train, taking sips now and again. Chuck the bottle away Blog. Go thirsty. Adaptation is the name of the game.  Well done.

 Oh look at all those runners running on the tarmac paths around the city in the dark with only the street lights for illumination. Pity you cannot see them in their dark kit. Get a high viz vest Blog and live to see another day.  Well done.

Oh look at all those runners running on the tarmac paths around the city in the dark with only the street lights for illumination. Pity you cannot see them in their dark kit. Get a high viz vest Blog and live to see another day.  Try running on unlit country roads when the moon is full. You stand out like a sore thumb for the motorists. Doubly safe … you - high viz vest - car head lights. Well done.

                                    Oh look at all those runners running on a cold winter’s night with their gloves on. Wonder what they do when they get hot and sweaty? Wonder what they do when they get cold again. And the gloves are so expensive as well. And they wear out so quickly as well. And you forget where you put them as well. …. Get an old pair of socks Blog. Cut out the toe. Warm – cheap – and they roll up / down your arm when you get hot / cold.  Well done.

                      Oh look at all those runners running sitting around drinking coffee and gossiping or watching their desk TVs. They haven’t the time to train at lunchtimes ….. Wear fresh clean kit under your shirt and tie when you dress in the morning Blog; prepare for a quick lunch time strip and run, with a fresh clean set of kit for when you finish, to wear underneath your shirt and tie in the afternoon Blog.  Well done.

            Oh look at all those runners, always running in a group or with a friend or two. All sessions together …. Do a Garbo …. run / train by yourself Blog and then a race becomes nice and special. Something to look forward to. Well done. [Not that Greta used to run / train as far as is known!!!]

   Oh look at all those runners spending those hours and their non-working time travelling to meet other runners at the track / gym / running club HQ. No time to do anything else. Life is so boring … run to and from work Blog. There is always a park / grass if you want to stop off to do a few efforts. An hour or so after finishing work, you have the whole evening free to do lots of other things. Life is not boring at all Blog. Well done.

Oh look, it is all so bleeding obvious Blog.  Well done.

                                                            Colin