New year, new start

It seems a tad strange to write about finishing fifth in a race, especially when I know three of the four people ahead of me who clearly did better. But yesterday was a very significant day for me: it achieved a big missing element on my cv: finishing high enough in a county championships to be asked to represent the county, but more significantly ended what I would describe as eight months of terrible form and not enjoying races, to the point where I was almost not bothered anymore, something that I was afraid to admit too loudly for fear of judging myself as a quitter and not knowing what else to do. 

Setting into a good pace, pre-fall.

Like two seconds later...

Yesterday, as I settled into a large group behind the leaders, was the first time in a long time that I felt like I was in control, fit, and able to respond to what might happen. Unfortunately I wasn't quite able to take advantage of that feeling: firstly three minutes in I felt the side of my shoe rip open to the point where I was worried it would come off, before I then hit the deck with a fair amount of force as my legs disappeared under me rounding a corner 10 minutes later.

I don't like to be pigeon-holed, but falling over in cross country races seems to be my forté. The highlight of that 'career' being the infamous YouTube clip, closely followed by the unfilmed 'trip over a tuft of grass' at National XC 2014. Like both of those, today's simple slip as I rounded a tight, downhill right-hander at the Worcestershire County XC Champs saw me bounce straight back to my feet, which is what I hope I am more known for. Not much chance of that!

Quite the hole.

Like a whole other foot-hole...

Although I winded myself as I became intimate with the ground, I managed to keep it together enough to take the fifth spot and was honoured with receipt of a piece of A5 white paper which has eluded me like gold dust. It's significance: automatic selection to represent Worcestershire County at the inter-counties competition in March, if, I could competently and clearly fill out my details and return the water-soluble 80 gram per square metre parchment to the officials clean and ASAP before they scarper. Another challenge. 

I've spent weeks worrying that January 2015 had been my 'now or never' moment: I was in the form of my life 12 months ago and it had been my best shot to quality before injury put pay to that. Yesterday I proved to myself that I'm still capable and I've have cast aside those demons. I look forward to lining up along side many of the people I competed against yesterday in two months time as teammates, but more importantly today I find myself looking forward to doing some races again and exacting revenge on those who eluded me today. Be wary fellow competitors, because my confidence is back. And in the next race I may not tumble. 

I just need some new shoes first. 

The elusive piece of paper, whose durability
was questionable in the conditions.

A Year Without a PB

It sounds almost defeatist, but in fairness PBs were never my goal this year.  It would have been nice to get one for sure and I did try on a couple of occasions, but this year - a very mixed year - I set out to win some races and have resulted with lots of achievements, which I'd like to analyse it numerically.

5 1/2 race wins.  3 1/2 if you take out parkruns, which most people rightly would.  The Worcester Marathon, the Bulmer's Bash and the Pangbourne 10K have in common that they were all taken by me.  And so would the Iron Runner 10K, had the absence of a marshall at a critical junction less than 1km from the end not meant that I ended up in the next village.  So I give myself a 1/2 win for that....they gave me a consolation bottle of wine after all!

1 course record.  At the Bulmer's Bash on a tricky course around the apple orchards, slicing a couple of minutes of their previous best. And they gave out bottles of Bulmers at the end, fantastic marketing if you ask me as I now love the stuff.

19 seconds. My winning margin in the Worcester Marathon back in April.  It doesn't matter that I let a six minute lead from mile 19 all but evaporate. I crossed the line first in what I look back at being the highlight of my year.  Regardless of whether local media bothered to get my name correct or not.

3 county medals.  That's two gold and one bronze.  A least it's meant to be bronze anyhow, it's a bit of a meh-colour.  So I was county champion in the half marathon, multi-terrain championships and somehow claimed the bronze in the 10K champs despite a poor poor run.  They look colourful in my cabinet though.

A decent prize haul from the Worcestershire
Half Marathon Championships in June.

2 second places. Which luckily is less than my number of first places, otherwise that wouldn't look good.

0 pbs. Actually I have to look back to September 2014 for my last one, a mouth watering sprint for the line to clock 32:59 for a 10,000m in Stretford.  That's a long spell without, but in all honesty I'm not too motivated for records at the moment, so just call me Mo Farah and we're done.

3150. The number of miles run this year.  Or in all honesty 3149.9, but my second highest ever after 2013, despite being injured that year as well.  Miles doesn't equal fitness though and I'd say I was fitter in both 2013 and 2014, based on absolute times.

So in conclusion it's been a mixed year where I've often struggled for fitness, form and many times enjoyment.  But I'm looking forward to 2016 and attempting to gain selection to represent Worcestershire for cross country at the Country Championships this coming weekend.

An uneducated report

In his latest work, the 2015 Edition of the Bupa London 10000, Daniel, who dares just refer to himself an athlete, tackled his lack of natural athleticism and raw pace in an event which often rewards those very talents in which he is not gifted.  In a culture where physical stature is often advantageous, here he applies his diminutive size as a strength. Daniel’s drugs are not the condemned EPO or ‘blood bags’, but the elusive search for 'satisfaction', 'endorphins' and a sense of self-worth which he can only achieve by pushing himself beyond his limits.

Daniel’s entire existence is an undiluted expression of his individuality, but his true agency is his endurance. The willingness to push on and never give in. Here we experienced first hand his draconian thought process: the single-minded battle of resolve against his Central Governor. Were we witness to a revolution of sorts? Could it be that Daniel is our unlikely hero who rose above his limitations to facilitate inspiration for each and every one of us?

Life is often not fair, a fact which Daniel knows better than many and perhaps his grunt at the seventh marker, his foible audible only to the trained ear was a recognition of this?  To the outward observer there was no change in his demeanor: his cadence still his primary discourse, the three stripes on his black shorts presumably representing his chosen stride per second-rate, covering but a fraction of ground with each power-less step akin to his cartoon heroes.

Nevertheless our hero persevered, eager to inspire in this extempore role.  By the time Daniel was level with the ninth marker, he was at one with his body and his limitations.  To the casual observer, the untrained eye, Daniel correctly selected his route and navigated the turn onto the long road of truth.  The final one-kilometre drag was anything but for Daniel as he grew and grew in confidence.  Relative glory awaited him.  

Without a second thought he seized his moment in history. It was not the raised-arm salute of his heroes of the past, or the Mobotic gestures of the younger generation with which Daniel gifted the crowd at the line of celebration.  The reward to his entourage: an idiomatic grimace and gallant reach for the stop button of his watch, suggesting that perhaps the finish line of this challenge has been mistakenly named by this author.

Behind from the gun, the 32:31 demonstration which he covet on the battlefield today may be a personal triumph, but is merely a drop in the ocean of average performances on the world-class stage. For Daniel’s performance was indeed a metaphor for the struggles which we all endure on a day to day basis in the dichotomy of 21st century Britain: in a post-austerity society in which graft and perseverance provide the biggest individual prizes, but are perceived as insignificant on the grander scale.

In a cruel twist of plot, despite achieving what he set out to do, Daniel must now deal with his own raised standards and shifting expectations. Daniel's greatest prize is also his curse.  Will tonight’s bicycle ride be one of punishment or an identical one of celebration?

But our hero will be back, of that one can be sure.

Not quite as I imagined...

I blogged in January that I wanted a different challenge: I wanted to win some races not worry about times. The opportunity to run Worcester Marathon fitted the bill perfectly...it was local, non-flat and looking at the previous results potentially winnable.

I imagined the ending of this race a hundred times in preparation. Each time I was like a gazelle, accelerating into the final miles, flying along the road so strong and effortlessly, my stride eating up the remaining metres. I imagined bursting on to the final canal section taking the corners so tightly that people would gasp. I imagined turning towards the rugby stadium in full view of the cheering crowd, perhaps a neck and neck race, myself the stronger, able to deal with any challenge and holding my line, not letting anyone come past me. And perhaps even a dramatic sprint, with me a dominant runner, leg speed unhampered by the miles they had eaten up already, crossing the line arms aloft, the course record disintegrated. Worcester was my local race; I'd trained the route in parts dozens of times, hard, easy. I knew every hill inside out. It made my visualisation even more realistic. I might win a marathon. And I would do it in style. Invincible.

--------------

I did win the 2015 Worcester Marathon. But it wasn't a bit like I imagined it would be. That's probably inevitable...a race, especially one of 26.2 miles could play out a thousand different ways.

On the day it was blowing a gale - a wind that somehow was always hampering whichever direction I ran. I decided to stick to the plan - aim for the course record (2:39:58) which was realistic even in unfavourable conditions. With the help of selfless club mates Dan and Kevin I ticked off mile after mile at six minute averages. I felt strong, my breathing unhampered.

Until Mile 21: well within the required pace my legs started to weaken. I turned into yet another headwind which would last until the finish, and finally the hills which had come at me again and again began to win. As I approached the brow of the latest incline my legs went. My hamstrings locked up. I could just barely move them. It was like I stalled, there and then. My splits began to rise. A couple of 6:20's, which was still fine, but before I knew it from low 6's I scored a 6:56 and then something over 7. This was ridiculous. I later found out that I had a six minute lead at 19 miles. At my new pace this was evaporating sharply.

It's one of those experiences where you look back and think 'why didn't I just run a little quicker?' At the time I thought this too. 'Why not go a little quicker, just a little, come on.' I think it now too. But anyone who has been in this scenario, when your legs have failed you, knows that you just can't. It sounds ridiculous, but mid 7 minute miles was the best I could manage. I tried increasing the cadence, I tried ignoring the burn of each step. Nothing worked. I just had to dig in. I tried not to look back. It seemed ridiculous that anyone wouldn't catch me now. Mile 25 albeit uphill into a headwind (not unlike most other miles) clocked in at a comical 7:45.

Mile 26, the reverse of mile 1, was downhill so should have been much easier, but to add to the hilarity, post race garmin analysis recorded It as 7:28. How?! Mile 1 had been jogged in a relaxed 6:26, fresh as a daisy, uphill.

So in contrast to how I imagined I found myself limping along the canal wobbling, barely moving. Moving my arms seemed pointless as my legs weren't going anywhere anyway. The support was pretty decent, but I couldn't imagine why they were mistaking me for the marathon leader though, did they not expect that he would be strong and impressive? I turned towards the stadium and lapped a half marathon runner who generously offered encouragement but I wasn't moving much faster than they. I was almost past caring about whether I won or not; I wanted it more than anything to be over. I was surely just seconds away from being caught, and now it was going to be embarrassing - in front of my friends and girlfriend. But another stolen look disagreed.

Somehow, somehow as I moved into the final 150m there was still no challenge. I mustered a small surge in a desperate attempt to get to the line. I must have been so slow that the commentators confused me for just another half marathon finisher. They hadn't even realised that the marathon had just been won. I didn't blame them.

As a result of a gentleman's 24 minute final 5k, my once-6 minute lead ended up as a 19 second winning margin and presented itself as me draped over the side of a metal hoarding before coiling into a ball on the floor.  On a day when I could have run a more conservative race to a more comfortable win I decided to go for a course record. I didn't get it, not in those conditions, but I hung on and I'll give myself credit for that. As immobile as I was, and as much of that 6 minute lead as I gave away, I got what I wanted:

I am the winner of the Worcester Marathon 2015.

Champion.

-------------

It would be remiss of me not to mention all those who helped and supported. Trusted right-hand man Dan Robinson who selflessly ran with me for 16 miles before hanging on to finish third himself. And Kevin who did the same before separating at 11 miles to complete the half marathon in a strong time given the course and conditions, unlucky not to PB.

Ally and Matt, who cycled around the course offering support, encouragement and strength at half a dozen points. Rebecca who did likewise, only without a bike. And of course the beautiful Ellie who clocked an impressive result in the half marathon herself before being there to see me finish and take my crown.

Incentive Enough?

Despite finding an embarrassing note I've discovered from myself to myself written in 2007 where I claimed that my goal was to win the Sheffield Half Marathon in 65 minutes, I am lucky enough (or maybe luck doesn't come into it) over the last 18 months to have achieved all of my wildest of targets.

I have surpassed my modest athletic, time-based obsessive goals which in my eyes would validate me as a runner, to the point where the last 3 PBs that I collected this summer didn't provide the same sense of invigoration or self-satisfaction as I expected.

Equally, the idea of subjecting myself to further training when I have opportunities to explore other things just to get a handful of seconds quicker doesn't cut it for me. I've questioned whether I'm done in this sport.....have I lost the hunger?

I don't think this is the case. But I do think some lateral thinking is required to motivate me for my next challenge.Like when Mo Farah took his family across the Atlantic to train with Alberto Salazar, or when Ed Banks shocked the free world by announcing that he would be switching from imperial to metric units to record his training, I am proposing a change: At a time when I have entered a new decade of my existence which will rigorously and unkindly age my youthful body, I shall no longer primarily run for times.

So what does that mean?

I have 10 career first places to date, some more valuable to me than others. Racing for position (on the local scene obviously) seems like a very interesting goal for this next year. A form of running where I would no longer be choosing races or deploying tactics to achieve an optimum time, but instead responding to other runners, and trying to best my fellow competitors.This, for me, is the new goal, and as soon as I get over this latest bout of injury, I'll be at it.

Genetic Rivalry - an anecdotal study

This story goes back a couple of years: I was having a really bad run, getting more and more worked up until I decided that none of it was fair.....I was training to try and compete at a higher level, but ability is limited in large by genetics. 

Genetics play such a pivotal role in running. There's only so much training that one can do before biomechanical and biological factors reduce further improvement to incremental. And this is without considering sociological impacts. 

I finally stopped and kicked a tree stump in frustration.  It wasn’t fair.  Genetic advantage is as unfair as PEDs I decided. It is not a level playing field. I could never hope to run a sub-30 for example. 

But as I would be miserable if I compared every run to Mo Farah, I judge performances and improvements to people at my level, and what I've achieved previously.

-----

My recent musings which established the unusuality of closeness of competition and ability between replacement chief rival Dan Robinson and I made me reflect: It is rare to find another 'random' runner with whom you are so closely matched over an extended period of training and competition, and with whom progression runs paralleled.

It was much to my surprise when attending a family funeral 18 months ago that I met so many paternal family members who I had no idea existed. And many seemed to run distance, now or at some point past. I then learnt of a personal trainer in London called Sam - who wasn't present, but I deduced him as my second cousin. His parents claimed him to be good. Naturally my curiosity was ignited. Sam would be genetically the closest comparison I would find in running terms (although I am aware that as a second cousin in all likelihood I would share as much genetic profile as a complete stranger (average of 3.125% shared genes)). I not so discretely gathered information and then excused myself to the bathroom to visit thepowerof10, as you do. 

The stalkerish results were just what I hoped for: on that day, if we ignore his rather impressive sub-two minute 800 as a 16 year old, my second cousin who is exactly 18 months younger and raced less than me boasted a 33:00 10k to my 33:36 and a marathon PB over 6 minutes faster than my own 2h50 clocking (at that time). 

The other week I had the presence of mind to check this again to see how my cousin, who I have still not met was going.

Tim                                   Sam

1mi        4:34    (2013)       4:34  (2014)

5000m  15:37   (2014)     15:34  (2014)

10k       32:59   (2014)     32:44  (2014)

HM        71:53   (2013)    72:06  (2013)

Mar        2h34    (2014)     2h44  (2012)

And in our only head-to-head race, the English National Cross County this year, I beat Sam, finishing 193rd to his 314th (84 seconds). But based on the closeness of the above it seems unfair to weight this too much. 

I have resisted the urge to create infographics, but even without them it is curiously close. I find myself wondering just which 3% of genes I may share with him and if perhaps other factors such as height and weight are reasonable similar. 

Unfortunately, any (one sided) family rivalry between us is ultimately futile: Christmas 2012 was ruined by a ground-shaking revelation from my step-grandma Margaret. She kindly asked about my running and then mentioned that her great-niece was a good runner. 'You may have heard of her'. 'Oh perhaps,' I humoured her, deeming it unlikely. 'Whats her name?'

'Gemma Steel'. 

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.