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.

Flogging a Dead Horse

Sometimes everything just falls into place.  This weekend was not such an occasion.

In a stark contrast from the Olympian performance of seven days earlier, spectators at the windy, run-down Saffron Lane track this weekend were treated to a master class in turning a promising performance in to a 3:40 final kilometre plod to the line, in a state of torturous purgatory which would just not end. 

This abysmal display of back-running ended a promising sequence of four PBs, but economised my afternoon by alleviating the need for a warm-down.

Indeed pundit analysis following this spectacle suggested that “Carter may have to relinquish his dream of remodelling himself as a 5k runner, and accept that he is just no good at any distance.” 

Buoyed by this criticism, paparazzi at Metchley Park last night captured me successfully hurdle a 35cm railing, fuelling speculation that I may be making my steeplechase debut on my next outing.

Alternatively, breakfast time browsing through Alastair’s Runners World magazine unveiled a training programme for the time-pressed individual, which assuredly guarantees a “fast track to a 5k PB on under 90 minutes a week training.”  This is exciting, and I look forward to running sub-16 following the completion of this programme.

Runner's world guarantee of a 5k PB.

Every Horse Has His Day

Sometimes everything just falls into place. 

Six months of training culminated with Heat 2 of the Men’s 5,000m, the main event, in the centre piece of the 2012 year – Populous’s £486m Olympic Stadium.  Despite being equipped with Saucony’s Fastwitch 5, costing a mere 220 grams per foot, pre-event training had been poor, but with a boost of being drawn in the same event as former rival Steven Bayton, meaning that friends and family, and the 6,000 spectators only had to pay keen attention to one 12 ½ lapper.

The 5k was an aerobically challenging experience, with the primary aim being not to be lapped by the afore-mentioned man from Halifax.  Elated by achieving this aim by circa 15 metres, I scampered to finish the final two furlongs in a hasty 67 seconds, for a concious lifetime record of 16:14.

The Final Furlong (Video by Sarah Mac, pun by Alison Camp)

The following day was a delicious slab of icing on a delicious cake.  I only ever entered the 10,000m as a back up due to BUCS controversial entry procedure, but after a pizza and video evidence review, the decision was made: “why not?”  A late night ice bath and a few hours sleep preceded the 6:20am start, to race for the second time in 18 hours.

For the first 200m, I took up my customary place at the back of the field preparing myself for a long morning, but I moved swiftly through the ambition-starters, digging deep into the faulting limbs, for what in reflection, was the most effortlessly proficient display of running, tactics and elegance the stadium had seen [that morning].

My stadium record – for the second fastest 10,000m ever ran in that venue – was personified with a Ovett-style raised arm celebration reflecting the elation at smashing my PB by 18 seconds, in an event that I hadn’t ever planned to do 24 hours earlier.  How I dragged that performance out of tired legs, I will never know. 

Even superhero Bayton was impressed, failing to follow up his magnificent 5k PB the previous day with an identikit performance.

But not to be outdone, Sarah McCormack, livid at only making it onto the number three spot on my all time favourite athletes list, performed a championship highlight, rocketing home in 34:31, a genuine stadium record, and the opportunity to urinate into a small cup in front of total strangers.  She described it as “the perfect day”, and was rewarded by just under one square inch on page 15 of last weeks Athletics Weekly.

A BUCS Gold medal.  Maybe in another lifetime for me.

BUCS Outdoors Preview

Six months ago - and these winter months have not flown - I set myself a wee target: 15:50 for 5000m at BUCS Outdoors, a race that is now but six days away. 

I didn’t know at the time if it was achievable: I was working off no fitness whatsoever, and didn’t even know if I would get a place at the event, or if BCU had an athletics team.  For the record, they don’t, but the controversial selection process has let me with entry in both distance events.

For someone once described by their physio as having the running technique of a stroke victim, I have changed almost everything in the last six months.  I’ve addressed unsymmetrical biomechanics, an aversion to morning training, and even started incorporating extra fruit and veg in my diet.  I’ve even instigated a move away from the mighty Structure Triax shoe - the brick of shoes as my training companions call it - and purchased a rather colourful ‘Fastwitch’ shoe, the irony of which will become apparent on the start line.

Recent events, namely the selfishness of the Usain Bolt and his mates on the Jamaican National Team coming to Birmingham this summer means the local facilities are being resurfaced, depriving me of the reassurance of pacing in my sessions.  As such, I have literally no idea what shape I’m in, no idea how fast I can run this weekend.  The result will be as much of a surprise to me as everyone else, but it will truly be an Olympic occasion.

"Season's Over"

On the day that 30,000 people took to the street of London, the amateur athletics world has been rocked by the news that Simon Millett’s “season’s over”.

The former participant at Watford Open, who last year came gut wrenchingly close to breaking 4 minutes for 1500m, is believed to have sustained a suspected torn meniscus in a late night incident involving alcohol on a recent training trip to Villamoura, Portgual.

UKA have condemned the reports, and claimed that the injury was caused during a stretching session, however sources close to the athlete have claimed the Simon had a strong urge to jump into water after hearing Gemma Steel sing karaoke.

Best friend Alex Tovey is said to be distraught, found in a side street with a bottle of wine in a paper bag earlier this afternoon.  “I don’t understand the problem, he has another knee…why should I have to run on my own all summer?”

In a further blow to Simon, Lego have announced that they will not be pursuing their planned Lego Basic ‘Millett and Friends’ series, announcing at their unscheduled press conference: “he doesn’t seem to be taking himself seriously, so why should we?”

In a positive twist, however, the powerof10 have claimed that if video evidence of the pool incident can be obtained, it will be ratified for a long jump PB, which should place him in the top 200 of the UK under-17 girls rankings.

“I knew the moment that it happened that the season was over,” said Millett.  “It’s so annoying – I was just starting to feel sexy in the bedroom again, and now this.  I’m an upbeat person though, and I’ll be using this time to work on my new range of cereal and rice products.”

 

        

 Millett’s new range of cereal and rice, modelled in his 

image, available from all good retailers.

Warm Weather.....Training

5000m goal : 15:50

5k PB : 16:21

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 16:21

I’ve never been on a warm weather training holiday before.  To clarify for the uninitiated, this involves going away with friends to a supposedly warm place, to train hard and effectively in a different environment without the pressures of work and everyday life.  For myself and eight friends over the last two weeks, this was largely the plan, however it didn’t quite unfold like this.

Villamoura instead was the venue for 10 days of celebrity spotting, in which Alex Tovey, who sports a gentleman’s 1500m of 3:46 which he dubiously claims not to have run in Nike Structure Triax footwear, consistently embarrassed us with his audible outcries of recognition. 

Tovey, who is also rumoured to have met Nick Goolab in the flesh, limited the number of miles which were ran in over 7 minutes to a cruel 1.23, with word around the pool stating that this was to test his vast array of running vests at speed to see which would be the most colourful when he lines up at the UK trials this June.

Tovey, Alex can be seen on the BBC, June 24^th-26^th 2012.

Unfortunately his training shadow Millborg, earlier disqualified from the alcopop strawpedo competition, crumbled under the pressure of recently being voted my 2^nd ever favourite athlete, with a late night drunken long jump into the villa pool resulting in a season-ending scrapped knee, which did nothing to help his hangover the next day.  Even Miss Squires herself broke down on the track a few days later in a lactate-enhanced emotional display as she realised the consequences of this drunken night, in which R. Kelly’s ‘Bump and Grind’ was accidently requested seconds before the karaoke bar filled with Liz McColgan’s training group, average age 12.

Millett, back left, scrambling out of the pool in after a 
season-ending rush of blood to the head.

Some of R. Kelly’s finest lyrics were performed to an
inappropriate audience.

Chief Personal Motivator and Head Movement Coach Howard, administering a balanced training programme between mileage and factor 4 tanning oil was my co-conspirator in the tempo run of the year (through a sample of two), draconically efficient in marshalling the range between the fastest and slowest miles to one second.  Its success was such that not only did Eilish McColgan take to the trails to try and join in, but one lucky individual even made off with Nando’s t-shirt as a souvenir, teaching him a valuable lesson in ‘couples karma’.  Withnesses gave a description matching one Dave Howlett, who had previously almost single-handedly dragged up the villa’s daily per-person mileage average to double figures without any fuss.

Amongst the sun bathing, post run dips in the pool and over indulgence in snacks resembling dog biscuits, it is hoped that this athlete (me, that is) managed to bagsy enough training effect to improve on the 3minutes and 1 second which I am adrift from the required Olympic A-Standard ahead of this summers global showdown.  With Chris Thornburg already securing fabricated tickets just to see me, it my sole hope that I wont let him down.

Official UKA sources believe that all athletes on the trip managed to perform at least some token training, including our P.E coordinator, Leigh-Ann, whose new found proficiency in middle distance terminology is reportedly the reason behind a secret recruitment by Alberto Salazar to help Farah get back to winning ways.

A WAG, Emily Armstrong also attended the trip.

Emily, pictured front right, actually cooks a spiffing lasagne, 

and was recruited by this restaurant shortly after.

March-tastic

5000m goal : 15:50

5k PB : 16:21

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 16:21

It seemed like a distant dream 6 months ago, but this month has seen me break two of my PBs, and not those silly PBs like 800m, or Coop and back.  Real manly distances.

My 10k PB dated back two years, and it evaporated on a fresh spring morning 13days ago in an ungentlemanly display of positive splatting to provide me with entry to the ’33 Club’.  I was hoping that would entail a gold plated cup, a lame running belt (you know for gels and stuff) and a date with Darya Klishina, but instead what you get is a congratulatory text of Simon ‘Millhouse’ Millhouse, and a firm handshake of Mister Banks.  They were both appreciated.

Today’s epic showing at the BRAT dominated Park Run, in a time which thankfully wasn’t rounded up despite having to stop suddenly as the finishing funnel featured a 90 degree corner (contrary to my momentum), meant I have had to dust of my abacus to calculate that I’m now a gamely 31 seconds off my goal. 

But it was analysing the data afterwards that raised some (my) eyebrows: despite being more rested for the 10k, I was far more efficient today, with lower average heart rates for every single km.  Coincidently, my times at 3 and 4kms were identical in both races, suggesting there’s some Kenyan in me, and the 624 beats in the final km today meant that this was a lower effort level than its counterpart despite its rapidness. 

	Trafford 10k (11th March)		Park Run 5k (24th March)
	Split	Average bpm	Split	Average bpm
1km	3:15 | (3:15)	184	3:13 | (3:13)	178
2km	3:11 | (6:26)	193	3:16 | (6:29)	189
3km	3:21 | (9:47)	196	3:18 | (9:47)	191
4km	3:22 | (13:09)	196	3:22 | (13:09)	194
5km	3:24 | (16:34)	196	3:11 | (16:21)	195

 Comparison of the opening 5k of Trafford 10k and a 5k race 13 days later.

The verdict of this? I don’t know, but I think it’s interesting, and I am open to suggestions!

The optimists amongst you will also note that I’m now hot on the trails of my apprentice Steven Bayton, who recorded a 10k of 33:55 in March 2010, and 5k of 16:20 in November that year.  Next stop then is projected to be 32:17, give or take a couple of seconds of course.

The Trafford Experience

10K PB : 34:06

10K SB (post-Sept 2011) : 34:20 (xc, garmin measured)

We knew this route was fast - six months previously I had completed Trafford 10K in a then PB of 37:15, wiping 29 seconds off my best for the distance, and a further one second on receiving my chip time.

The series stood at 1-0, to him.  But I was confident of pulling it level.  Neck and neck in training, Steve and I locked horns again, in a clash so prolific that it lead to factions developing in our training group.  Some disturbing fan ‘art’ (or fart for short) developed, scribing the clash that unfolded, while children sung out names.*

*actually they shouted abuse at us in Hillsborough park when we trained, but who’s caring?

The Camel (myself) versus The Lion (Steve) 

Two weeks prior we had foolishly travelled across the snake pass in falling snow, in a minibus who’s heater did not work, getting stuck and having to push on the way, to find the race cancelled (at a cost of £10 in fuel per head).  Furthermore, Ally couldn’t attend the rescheduled trip due to bingeing commitments, but I did convince that organisers that he deserved a goody-bag for his committed screen wiping performance with a solitary damp tissue on that fateful journey.

The marooned minibus, with passengers evicted to lighten the load.  

Ally gets a goody-bag for his heroics two weeks prior, despite not being 

able to make the revised race date due to bingeing commitments.

On this occasion, I passed halfway in 17:10, to record a negative split, and 35 PB improvement only for Steve to have finished 11 seconds before me.  That record of 34:06, has stood ever since, and while I believe that I’ve been in better shape since, I’ve never been able to improve on it.

12 months ago I was in great shape, hoping to smash that time, but sometimes everything goes right apart from the race itself.  A flirt with stitch led to me crossing the line slightly slower than my best, despite limping for 3k, while Steve clocked sub-32 for the first time in a effortless endeavour.

This weekend I be making the annual pilgrimage to Partington, feeling like I’ve successful reclaimed some form.  According to my garmin, I’ve already ran within 20 seconds of my best this season, ongrass in the freezing snow only five weeks ago, giving me every reason to dream of that which has eluded me for the last two years. 

Rumour has it that like the 4-minute mile, it isn’t possible for a human to run 6.21miles in under 34 minutes, but records are there to be broken.

For me, crossing the line with the clock on 33 would constitute a job well done, regardless of the final two integers…

Indoor roundup

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 16:55 (xc split)

One might have been forgiven for thinking I’d lost a bet, forced to sit through (and luckily sleep through some of the) 15 heats of the men’s 400m, after earlier watching over 150 individuals run for 7 seconds, 6 at a time, down a short straight and try to avoid crashing into the railings at the end.  Seeing me warm up in the kit of the magnificent BCU would have done little to dispel this, but the BUCS Indoor Champs at the £24m EIS, where like (but not with) Jess Ennis, I used to train, provided me with a 3000m for my first timed event of 2012.  This was also the first and last indoor event of my season, excluding emergency bathroom dashes and the upcoming house inaugural indoor varsity jenga multi-event champs.

As always, the gauntlet of warming up for big events was more of a trial than the event itself: sprinters don’t like sharing the warm up area with joggers, and communicate this in belittling gestures.  Additionally the call up for heat 3 was 30 minutes before its start, meaning the only thing stopping the muscles from cooling back down were the hearty luck wishes all the way from Lyon, France, the adrenaline from arguing with a power hungry official about why the leg number had to be pinned side and side, not top and bottom, (we didn’t get to the bottom of this,) and wondering if the other competitors had noticed I was the only one wearing trainers.  Dirty ones.

The slow start was presumably because the other competitors had heard the rumours of my wobbling head, and gave me too much time ponder the insufficient testicular fortitude offered by the only shorts which colour coordinated with my vest, and led to a first kilometre which Monsieur Bayton would call a recovery pace.  But as the race stretched out, I quickly laid on a biomechanical master class for the watching cameras, with the event presumably broadcast to over 180 countries worldwide, and the international space station. 

I brushed off recent worries of hernias, tired legs, and my dwindling supply of Weetos to record negative splits, aided somewhat by a ferocious final 200m, which Ibrahim Jeilan is now said to be studying in detail “just in case”.

More interestingly, my 9:29.97 with just over two months to go until the target 5000m, shows that I have in the bank a gentleman’s one hundredth of a second per kilometre.