By a Hair

Despite Gillette’s current marketing campaign, ‘by a hair’ is a not a well known saying.  But it aptly describes the fallout of a speculative conversation on Tuesday night’s fun-down.

Training partner and replacement great rival Dan Robinson and I are so evenly matched in performance that our head-to-head looks staged. Dan arguably puts in more miles, additional static bike training and deploys aerodynamic enhancing full body grooming to compensate for his advancing years. I on the other hand prefer to rely on the gung-ho of youth, luck and the unteachable art of deploying two extra gears with the finish line in sight. 

Through this we mused what the difference between our cumulative PBs might be if totted up.  I didn’t have to wait long.  On opening my email on Wednesday morning, the result was waiting for me:

                        Tim                 Dan

800m                2:12                 2:12;

1500m              4:23                 4:23;

Mile                  4:34                 4:40;

3,000m             9:05                 9:07;

5,000m            15:37               15:30;

10,000m          32:59               32:50;

HM                   71:53               72:18;

Marathon        2:34:47            2:34:31.

Total                 4:55:30            4:55:31.           (+1)

1 second.  The difference of a dip for a line here or a widely-taken corner there.  Neither of us had expected it to be so entertainingly close.

Of course when I arrived home, quivering with excitement and unraveled the contents of that email to my girlfriend Ellie, she looked at me partly in sympathy, and mostly with the sort of distain she normally reserves for my half-hearted washing up. 

Clearly lost on her was the poetic beauty of two rivals, who after 53 miles of individual racing were separated by a finer margin than the result of the 1989 Tour de France.

Or perhaps I need some side-hobbies. 

NB: The blog was purposefully published on Saturday 27^th September 2014: If Dan improves his PB at tomorrow’s Nottingham HM, and I fail to beat him by the 25 seconds I was able to gain in the final mile of last year’s event, the pendulum will swing once again.

Those Moments that Made my Year

For the Carthorse and friends, 2013 has been quite a year of running. This year has seen many of us in my training group significantly improve. Personally, my season was probably summed up by three outstanding races in July (Mile), August (5000m) and September (HM), each better than the last. But that hasn't been complete story of this year which has just been made up of moments of hilarity, unbelievable happenings and fun. Now seems like the opportune time to recap some of my favourite moments. In chronological order of course. 

10^th April, Villamoura, Portugal:

Villamoura was a fantastic two week 'holiday' with friends in the sun at a time when the UK was still getting snow. It was great training aboard, although some of the routes got a little repetitive.  This Wednesday, I remember Nick 'Nandos' Howard showing me the beach cliff trail route for the first time. The weather was amazing, there were fantastic views of the ocean, and the steep trails were a real breathe of fresh air.  I ran that same route later that day too.

18^th May, Yate:

Summer had arrived in force and it was the first of four Track & Field League fixtures. We were pushing for promotion this season, but unfortunately we had a depleted team, meaning we were all doubling, or tripling up in the events. By the time it got to the 4x400 relay, the last event, we had only a disparate crew of exhausted distance runners left able to run.

I volunteered to go first leg as I had prior experience of holding a baton. The start line was hilarious; amongst five serious teams in blocks, I took a standing-start position and had only managed a single step by the time my competitors had sprung away and managed three….I was 50 metres behind by 100m. Dan, with a 1500m and a 5000m in his legs, finished the third leg just ahead of the leaders completing the event. This ensured we didn’t get lapped, meaning Ed, the anchor, was so jubilant that he performed a double Mobot as he eventually crossed the line.

25^th May, Leicestershire & Warwickshire joint County Champs finish line, Leicester. 

Having narrowly missed it in Yate the week before, it was widely known that I was attempting to run my maiden sub-16 minute 5000m. After one of the most physically painful races I can remember, I crossed the line, collapsing almost immediately to all fours, unable to move or do anything but hope the lactate would clear.

'What did you do?' would have been a polite way for a recovered-Ed to have enquired as to my result. But probably not convinced I would’ve been able to respond, he instead simply grabbed my watch arm from where it lay limp on the floor and pulled to his eye level. I subsequently found out I’d come second in the county, but recalling Ed's violation of my watch/arm is what I smile about when I remember that day. 

June 23^rd, My bed. 

In June, Dan was the athlete in form. The previous day had been the Midland 5000m champs which has been a disaster. The conditions were miserable, and even though Dan and Ed had PB-ed, no one was over the moon about it. 

In uncustomary fashion we hit the town to drown our sorrows, and after stumbling in at 4am, I managed to drag myself around an ‘easy’ 90 mins with Ed, in a massive struggle of hangover and sore legs. 

Dan, in contrast it turned out, had used his hangover to positive effect. I got a phone call as I lay in bed post-run trying to recover. He had somehow gone out and done a 9 mile race, finishing third in an unbelievably quick time. I do not know how, only that I could not have done that. 

July 20^th, Iffley Road track, 15 metres from the line.

The opportunity to run at the famous Roger Bannister track in Oxford was too much to pass on, even though I didn't consider myself to be in good shape to race a Mile. Dan and Mark were in the heat before mine and both ran 4:40. Not a chance I thought.

Somehow I found myself still in it coming down the final 100m, and with my friends ecstatic with jubilation on the sidelines, my legs beginning to burn, bend and wobble, I was starting intently at the finish clock which was slowly ticking up, and not getting any closer.

The winner crossed the line two seconds ahead of me, stopping the clock, but fifteen metres away I was so out of it I didn’t really absorb this. I just remember thinking I has managed to stop time, and that I'd now exist forever in a sea of painful purgatory at 4:32.

This mile was probably my breakthrough race this season, and my 1500m split probably a good 6 or 7 seconds faster than a race over the same distance just four days earlier. 

24^th August, Coventry University track finish line:

Coventry BMC 5000m was the ultimate of races. Paced by super-metronomic Ed Banks, it featured four of my other friends and training partners. I crossed the line just three seconds behind Dan, and I'll never forget the scenes that subsequently unfolded....

As I crossed the line, Dan had had just enough time to release the enormity of what he'd done, and turn around, with a shocked look on his face. I simply ran straight into an embrace, and turned around to see my friend Sarah cross the line inside her PB too. Lying around on the floor and self-congratulations initially got in the way of knowing what anyone else had done, but I then spotted Mark 10 metres away. He was frozen still, a massive smile on his face, arms stretched out wide and his body language said 'just ask me' all over it. He’d taken over 20 seconds off a 20 year old PB, breaking the 16-minute barrier which he’d given up on long ago. What a hero. It's rare that everyone you go to a race with has a screamer. On that day myself, Dan, Mark, Sarah and Chris all smashed it. And Ed's contribution was a massive part of that. Those scenes may never be repeated again.

A Pentalogy of Proven Folktales

About a year ago, a very reliable training partner of mine wrote a post-London marathon blog about the top five things he’d learnt from his recent experiences.  In the same vain, I’ve actually written a serious piece for once!  This post discusses the top five things that worked for me in a season where overall I smashed my PBs at every distance I raced.

1) Don’t undeRESTimate the power of nothing:

I know lots of runners, and I used to be one, who underestimated rest.  I don’t mean rest days, and I don’t mean tapering for races.  We all do that.  I mean perpetual training because you want to keep improving, are worried about falling behind, and are not looking at the big picture.  Just because you don’t feel tired, doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

Rest was the foundation for last season.  After averaging probably 60 miles per week for the previous 18 months, last summer my ankle revolted, and caused me have three unplanned months out, emerging from the other side of that dark tunnel with precious little fitness (mostly because I couldn’t be arsed to even try and maintain it).  But it enabled me to build my whole season around the idea of regaining fitness and to run a big PB at BUCS.  I don’t think that I would have done this so easily without the downtime which completely refreshed me.

2) Periodisation:

I’ve never done this consciously before, but having a goal which was sixth months away was the key, as it was ample time to build up each element of fitness.  I broke my time down in to three, two-month blocks, and a further one after BUCS.  Each element prioritied a different training component: endurance, strength, thresholds or speed endurance.  Looking back, it took only three weeks of hard training to regain 90 percent of my fitness, but this method meant that in total, it took just four months to go from no fitness, into PB territory.    The proof is in the pudding, and in May-July I demolished my best times for everything from 1500m to 10k (the longest I raced).

3) Big performances are possible, but belief is the key:

To be fair, Sammy Rashid has always said this to me, but I proved his theory!  Doubling up at the Olympic Stadium was never the plan, but I’ll be honest and say that I was slightly disappointed with my 16:14 in the 5000m heats.  Logic and common sense said that tired and sore legs couldn’t do any better the next day; after all, it had taken two years of trying just to break 34 minutes for 10k, a feat achieved just two months prior.  But, with only a pizza and 6 hours sleep preparation, I lined up on the startline of the 10,000m less than 18 hours later, believing that I could take something from the track that cold morning.  An 18 second PB proved to me that if the training is in the bank and you believe in it, last min preparation isn’t that important at all. 

4) Cadence, not stride length:

Increasing your cadence (ideally to 180 steps/minute) is the way forward.  To run at a given pace, the energy needed to take more, smaller steps is less than fewer longer ones, and ideally, this will eventually lead to quick long strides.  But in practice it is really difficult to change a habit.  I’ve been trying for a year, and whenever I do it, it really works.  But I wouldn’t say that I’m anywhere near mastering this yet, although I had some success.

5) Know your strengths:

We all know I’m not a sprinter, but this year has clarified that: My body responds far better to high-volume endurance training than high-recovery speed endurance.  Based on this summer, I require around two months to train my legs to diversify their endurance, to bring my shorter race times in-line with my longer ones.  But middle distance training will not improve my overall ability.  Only endurance will do this, and knowing this will enable me to consolidate how I train this coming year.

For me, I've called it a year on the 2011-12 season, which has been my best yet.  Training will begin soon in earnest for what will hopefully be a full-body-mud-bath-free XC season, and some other targets that I need to work out! Watch this space...

1668 Steps to Glory

My high school P.E. teacher Mr. Weedon may not have liked me (and we thought he was a prat too), and my physio in 2009 may have described me as having the running style of a stroke victim, but last night saw both my 3k and 1500m PBs both creak and tumble in a breath-taking BRAT Club dominance at, well, the BRAT Club Open.

This summer has seen my fast twitch muscles characteristically slow, but without my usual dominance of the under 17 age group races which I’ve come to enjoy, and a 3000m three weeks ago arguably achieved nothing except elevating me away from the very bottom of the national rankings.

The Carthorse camp are accrediting these masterful PB revisions to either the Saucony racing flats, which cost me a mere 6.3grams/kg of body weight, (£0.64/kg if you will,) or perhaps the concoction of beetroot which I subjected my stomach to three hours before the race.

But the real reason may perhaps be my new found running elegance.  Now don’t get me wrong, everyone knows that I have always been an elegant, neat, graceful and composed runner, but after an eye-opening hungover, dehydrated and sleep deprived track session last Saturday, I’ve come to realise that high leg cadence is even more respected by my cardiovascular system than I imagined.  In fact, upping my cadence to 180 per minute drew cheers from a season’s best of three different spectators, with one female fan commenting that while it was “enjoyable to be able see more footstrikes, my increased speed deprived her of additional time looking at my biceps.”

Despite being unable to get in touch with Chief Personal Motivator and Head Movement Coach Nick ‘Nandos’ Howard for praise, I can already see this new found technique revolutionising a running career which Seb Coe himself has long advocated as “going nowhere”.

Meanwhile, graduation at the end of 9 years of studying architecture has meant that there will be no more BUCS competitions.  Although organisers are said to be pleased that the average competitor age will now reduce, and I must now make my peace that any dream of winning a BUCS medal, or making an athletic impact at any event, is gone too.

NB: 180 (steps per minute) x 9:16 = 1668.

Foremark Adventure

Back in the comfort of the Derbyshire countryside with an open agenda for the day and 1500m tomorrow that I wanted to keep my legs fresh for, I decided that it would be fun to don my Structure Triax and head out into the National Forest not worrying about time or pace.  And what better time to investigate the old adage: is it possible to circumnavigate the entire shore of Foremark Reservoir???  The answer to this is not known by anyone that I know (sample of 2).

 A 4 mile route for cheaters, but shows the useful landmarks.

Foremark Reservoir is a 0.93km² manmade body of water approximately 1.5 miles from my house.  Internet folktales/rumours suggest that it is 4 miles to navigate the public paths, but my goal was to hug the water’s edge.  There’s lots of fisherman who use it, there’s lots of trails and a bit of beach which I know from previous runs, and then there’s a 1km stretch of road in the north-west corner which is privately owned by the water company and not public accessible.  Which I read to mean ‘to anyone who isn’t running very quickly across it with the aim of not being seen.’

Enjoying the lovely sunny morning, I took a slightly longer route to get there, enjoying some different grass route/trails, passing other horses, and finally joining Foremark at the North, marked ‘64’ on the map.  Like a true pioneer I was excited to immediately find a route that I had not previously known, which avoided the forbidden area, with grass so squishy I had to wonder if anyone had ever been here before.  Given though that it was mown recently, my sense of pioneering was curtailed somewhat.

Quickly, I reached the west of the water body, the sailing club, past which no one (meaning I) had ever tried to run.  Committed, I darted between the parked boats, and looking eagerly around, I spotted a grass path between some trees.  I followed this undulating terrain, with my lust for adrenaline not letting me drop the pace to a sensible level.  But while the paths weren’t anywhere near being described as ‘well worn’, I excitingly soon made it out onto the edge of the centre most tip.

This was not the time to admire views, so I continued anti-clockwise around the periphery of Foremark.  Were these were actual paths, or just wishful thinking was a dilemma that I didn’t have to ponder for long: I was soon running on angled banks, and I had to wonder why, when the ground disappeared beneath me and I went sliding down the bank toward the water on my side, my first instinct was to try and stop my watch.  Luckily I was experienced from dramatic cross country falls, and managed to bounce back to my feet without breaking stride.

But a minute or so later, this was the end of the running.    I was on the west side of the southernmost part, ducking under trees, fighting my way under branches, between dense foliage.  But I could still see the shore, and I could see a fishing boat.  It didn’t pass me by that I was now crouching in a great hiding spot, were I a spy, and the individuals on the boat my targets.  

I could see the opposite shore and considered taking off my shoes and wading across.  But now I was so far into the woods that I couldn’t get near to the bank which was also a long way below.  I knew that was probably going to have to admit defeat and turn back.  

At 40 minutes in, I’d only covered 5.5 miles despite the early pace. Foremark Reservoir was un-circum-navigatable.  But part of me didn’t want to turn around, part of me couldn’t be bothered, and the other part knew that without a sense of direction, and now no sign of the water, I was well and truly lost.

Attempting to retrace my steps, I came across a crushed metal wire fence; one that I hadn’t crossed previously - a good sign surely?  But my mental state seemed to have deteriorated, and I was seemingly believing that I was deep in the Amazon or something.

I was going in loops.  By now I was stung to buggery by nettles.  I was using a stick that I must have obtained at some point, presumably to make myself feel like an experienced woodsman.  And indeed I found myself shouting out to see if anyone else was nearby.  No one responded.  I could no longer retrace my steps If I wanted to.  It dawned on me that I may die here.  I’d lost all sense of reality.

Crossing another fence, or possibly the same one, I caught sight of a boundary.  It was tall dense foliage, surrounded by nettles, and completely impassable.  But it gave me hope, and following the line I soon found myself crossing into a field.  I now discovered that I was smack in the middle of Bondwood Farm.  

 The route of my extradinary adventure.

Bondwood Farm is massive.  I could only pick a direction to go, and I ended up following the tractor tracks around the farm in the hip-height crop.  Eventually I found a public footpath and jumped the style to escape into Carvers Rocks, a big complicated trail which luckily I was very familiar with, but unfortunately was drowned in Thursday’s monsoon.  After sliding down another slop, I traced my way back to the main bridle path, which I vowed to stick to for the rest of the run, and with the elation at having survived the adventure, launched myself through the vertical style, missing the upright with my hand and literally spilling out of the reservoir grounds in the most dramatic way possible.

I have now declared a direct circumnavigation of Foremark Reservoir to be impossible, but it made for quite an unorthodox and refreshing morning – well afternoon by the time I got home – run.