The Jogger's Nipple

VLM13

2013-04-29T21:04:00.000+01:00

Just a quick post to express my gratitude to everyone that helped a last minute fundraising spree go from £0 to £602.60 in the space of ten days for Macmillan Cancer Support at the Virgin London Marathon! THANK YOU!

I don't have much to say on the race - you know the score. London, masses of runners, music, samba bands, costumes galore, streets lined with cheering spectators and of course a very rowdy bunch of screamers, whistlers, long-plastickything-banging nutters, clappers, shouters and big smilers, all waving the Macmillan flag. AWESOME.

I came over the finish with a 3:01:56 time, a few minutes off target pace after some issues at mile 24 - but a great day out in the capital and the sun came out too!

Thank you everyone for your continued support at VLM over the years. Same time, same place next year! Come join me on the course or for some 'refreshments' afterwards! x

Gurgh Jagud!

2013-04-12T17:09:00.002+01:00

I know I can't quite believe it myself - time to add a post to The Nipple, a rare thing indeed!

Since writing last there have, of course, been many things happening in The Nipple office. Training ramped up in january again, this time with Canadian mountain man, fearless climber and ultra runner, Toby Froschauer. If our text message arrangements were to be monitored by CID, they would probably cause a full scale ambush on the corner of Hackney Marshes, being misinterpreted as cunning underworld code:

6:45 lckd bild, wait15 goifno / TuesBring4mud / Thurs?6:45 15go speedsess / Sat?Long?Mud!EppFor 10 usual.

Rather undramatically, they would find two skinny guys warming up for a pre work 15 miler.

So as the year starts again, miles get clocked, plans hatch and the January/Februaury elements are fully enjoyed for all their random plot changes. The dark mornings offer beautiful sunrise, foggy fields, misted building tops and the chance to start the day with birdsong. Gradually the year starts to warm up, mornings become brighter, head-torch, gloves and beanie left in the drawer and layers stripped back. Well thats what usually happens, this year, however, winter has clung on with every ounce of its might and continues to force runners into leggings, glow in the dark hats, base layers and thermal gloves. Slapping faces with horizontal rain, numbing finger tips in sub-zero temperatures it has unashamedly forced me to wear merino wool and Gore-Tex... in London! (Oh the shame!)

[Photo taken from Hardmoors Facebook Page, posted by Laurence Cuinu]

This weather thing, that apparently we so often talk about, became a dominating factor in March at my first race of this year - Hardmoors 55. Both myself and Toby ran the route together and if you hear words like 'epic', 'brutal' and 'WTF?' being used on various race reports, they are well deserved. To cut a long story short, -20C temperatures, knee deep snow drifts, 6,800 ft of ascent, wrong turns, ups, downs, extreme marshaling, snow drift sculptures (very weird, beautiful and eery), magical snow covered forests and stunning views across the moors, saw us place joint 11th of 135 in 9:48 with 10 minutes to spare before we caught our prebooked taxi to York station. Sheesh. A quick change in the toilets, then bar snacks and beer for our return journey home! Tidy!

March also brought another exciting day out in the form of the TORQ Trail Team assessment day. TORQ have decided to form a trail team from an application process posted up some time ago through various social networking sites. From a stack of applications they managed to choose a group of people to attend the two assessment days. (Find out more at their Fb page here). It turned out to be more of a meet and greet than what you would imagine an assessment to be with talks, gel tasting (rhubarb and custard!!!), a spot of light lunch and a short run together. Extraordinarily, I also bumped into someone I was in school with! Taking a double take I couldn't quite believe it at first - what are the odds on that? Pretty slim I think! It was great to catch up with someone I hadn't seen for the best part of sixteen years and no doubt our paths will be crossing more often in this small and knitted community of ours.

Another highlight to the day was listening to Stuart Mills aka Ultra Stu, talk about the power of positive thinking (winner of Lakeland 100 and many many other races: www.ultrastu.blogspot.co.uk). An inspirational demonstration on the power of your mind during training and racing was pretty much summed up in "Its not pain, it's a challenge!". I would have loved to have been able to have had a post TORQ day pint with Ultra Stu and the rest of the gang, but I had to go directly to Heathrow airport to catch a work flight to Sao Paulo! Where, I might add, it was a balmy if a little humid 26C.

So as we head into April it seems winters long claws are losing their grip, just in time for my second race - Virgin London Marathon. I'm doing some last minute fund raising this week, so if I know you, expect an email in your inbox shortly! I'm also hoping to show my support for an initiative set up by an old work colleague - The Good Gym. An inspirational team of volunteer runners doing good through their running you can visit their website at www.goodgym.org. I'll be getting a vest printed up and hope to be running their colours for the race. More to come on that shortly!

Before you know it the last signs of winter will have melted away and we'll be wiping dead midges from our sweaty brows. I think though, even when the BBQ is lit, the beers are being fetched from the cooler and shoulders peel from the suns ferocity, there will still be a part of my brain that will hark back to the sight and sound of Toby Froschauer trying to tell me to get the jacket off his backpack. With his jaw frozen solid in -20C winds and knee deep in ever changing snow drifts, it went something like:

T - "Gurgh jagud"
M - "What?!"
T - "Gurgh jagud!"
M - "What??!!"
T - "Ag!"
M - "Bag?"
T - "Urr, rag!"
M - "Your bag"
T - "Gurgh jagud un bag"
M - "Oh, your jacket, your bag?"
T - "Urrrr!!!"

Ahh the joy! Bring on next winter. Happy running!

2012-11-19T20:42:00.000+00:00

Mud Mud Glorious Mud!

For a considerable amount of time now I've been reading blogs, articles, books and websites, watching clips and short films and generally salivating over the British mountain activity known as Fell Running. Even though I knew it would be something I would instantly enjoy I just hadn't had the opportunity to join a race - up until this weekend that is.

With a trip home to North Wales planned it seemed only right to get up early and head over to the classic Penmaenmawr Fell Race on Saturday morning.

WOW!

As predicted - love at first sight. Face plant in a stream, stuck leg in bog, lots of climbing, lots of fast descent, hopping through bracken and boulders, mud, mud and more mud. To top it off the race has its own brew and you receive a bottle on crossing the finish. Oh and the views aren't too shabby either.

It's a lot faster than I would usually travel, so pacing was just a guess especially with the unknown of what the climbing would do to my legs. My time going up and down Pen-Y-Fan earlier in the year definitely prepared me for some screaming descents! The brain needs to think on overtime, tip-toeing faster and faster over rocks, mud, greenery and water.

Fell Running is a no-nonsense sport over no-nonsense terrain. The opportunity to go and enjoy the fells, hills and mountains of Britain is something I've wanted to get involved with for a long time. My only worry now is how to break it to my wife that the back of the car is going to get converted every Friday evening into a temporary race wagon and that I should, hopefully, return intact some time on Saturday, slightly damp and dirty!

Penmaenmawr Fell Race: 6M/1700ft
www.eryriharriers.org.uk

The Final Fall

2012-03-21T09:52:00.000+00:00

Woo-hoo! Got entry for the all new Trail Marathon Wales, the Lakeland 100 (4 points for No.5 on the TO DO List) and the Snowdonia Marathon. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and I finally went for a run with East London's Victoria Park Harriers. Things are looking good.

I've wanted to run with the Harriers for over two years now but with work commitments and also, I should admit, a slight fear of running with other people, I haven't made it. Last Thursday I bit the bullet and turned up for their tempo day.

Meeting in the Harriers club on the edge of the park, the 7p.m. start is a fairly relaxed affair with people turning up and having a chat awaiting their different groupings. The groups are pretty straight forward at 4, 6, 8 or 10 miles, lead out of the door by longer serving members who know the routes. I opted for the 10 which is an out and back to Tower Bridge, with the front runners keeping a tidy pace throughout. With the London Marathon coming up fairly shortly and 20+ Victoria Park Harriers running it, I think the front runners are looking at sub 3's at least.

I've been undecided for a long time about joining a club, torn between the solitude that I love from clocking miles and the knowledge you can gain from a well established and experienced group of runners. Thursday night, as I thought, decided that for me.

I ran alongside a multiple OMM finisher and Fellsman badge holder so quickly found a like minded being. We ran slightly behind the front pack and had a younger runner tucked in with us, keeping quiet and running hard (he didn't actually tell us until we were 100 yards from the clubhouse that he hadn't run the 10 miler before and had been keeping a good 7min/mile pace throughout!).

A few things became immediately apparent during this Thursday outing. The front runners looked strong, which was good. The group run meant I was keeping a pace that I may have otherwise slackened back on, and that has its very obvious training benefits! It reminded me more of being with a pack in a race and it was a good feeling to be out with fellow runners, knowing that the pace was constant, feeling a part of the pack rather than the tagger on. I'm a massive fan of mileage, I love clocking endless miles up the canal paths from my home, but this session was a shorter sharper burst of running that I know will do well for strength conditioning. The Harriers also run a speed/interval session on a Tuesday that I imagine will have the same benefits. Another benefit to the run was a new route, traffic free, that I had only partially been on before. With many miles stepped looking for traffic free routes this was an added bonus to the evening! The time clocked up fast as we chatted along the route and being a small group actually made the night time canal route a lot easier as my thoughts were on my running and not on what, or who, may be round the next corner!

To top it all off the club has a bar, open on Thursday evenings post run. Next time I'll remember to take a change of gear. Could it get better? Well, it seems that it just might as I was told they also have BBQ's in the summer!

So with my first run banked I'm looking forward to more training with them. I think I'll still be keeping my long runs to myself, but these weekly sessions look to be a really good way of mixing up training, being involved with other runners and also being involved with events at the clubhouse. I think they also do XC and fell, which is somthing I'll jump on given half the chance!

So as if all this excitement wasn't enough, the final big toenail to come off post Beacons Ultra has parted ways and left a shiny new (half) toenail in its place! Its been threatening to fall and I wasnt sure whether to pull or not, so left it to its own devices:

Not before too long I should be able to construct one of these:

Hahaha!

And now in true typical British fashion, I'm expecting my car to leave its exhaust pipe on the motorway, my roof to collapse with the sheer weight of a freak snowstorm or my ankle to turn over and snap on an acorn, just to counteract all this great news.

Happy Spring Running!

The Prize

2011-11-23T15:06:00.001+00:00

Ahh, what can I say, I love Autumn. Cobalt skies, cooling temperatures, crisp mornings and the first signs of winter. It's also the season where summer miles can come to fruition in two shin splinting, toenail dropping, calf crunching Welsh corkers - The Snowdonia Marathon and The Beacons Ultra.

I have a soft spot for Snowdon, it was my first marathon and I hold the race, the competitors, the volunteers and the finishers cup of tea with highest regard. The weather is, as always, a treat. Right angled rain and windy uppercuts. I've written here before about the ins and outs of this race, but as per usual, mile 21 never fails to impress! This year I was joined by two friends, Sam and Imo, who also decided to use Snowdonia as their introduction to marathon running and who both now proudly hold Snowdonia Marathon slate coasters.

I have only one complaint with the Snowdonia Marathon. Last year I didn't get a place. SOLD OUT. Because of those two little words I will never hold the 28th Snowdonia Marathon slate coaster and it will always be missing from my coaster collection. It may seem like a trivial thing but those coasters that sit unnoticed on the sideboard, preventing hazardous candle drips, propping Birthday cards that lack sufficient standing stamina, defending cloudy vase prints from Mamgu's G-Plan veneer, mean the world to me. I have no interest in finishers medals, race numbers are dumped with empty gel packets, but those coasters sit quietly in the corner of the room, with tales of Snowdon running through their foliaton.

This year, alongside my coaster, I have some Beacons Ultra Old Red Sandstone trophies. These trophies, however, are deeply engrained into my elbow, forearm and thigh. Mile 40ish into a 46 mile run and I decided, on a fast rocky downhill section to get my left foot neatly wedged between two large stones. This resulted in a not-so-Superman style flight and a meeting with mud, rock and water. It shook me up. It happened so quickly that I had no time to think until I was looking straight up into the sky. There was heavy mist all day and I was staring into a long, luminous, grey-white depth. Focusless. A beautiful vastness of nothing. Then my elbow sent its appropriate neurotransmissions and I shot up pretty quick clutching my bloodied arm. I spat grainy red dirt from my mouth. Hopping from one foot to another, I was shouting things that I wouldn't even bless Ramsey's ears with. I cursed myself with further profanity, brushed down and checked all body parts could still move. I got back into stride and continued forward progress with a tweaked ankle and a limp.

Sitting with a beer resting on my new Welsh slate coaster and stroking my ever tightening elbow scab, I can now look back at this Autumns racing with fond memories.The coaster will soon find its way back over to the corner of the room and my elbow, knee and thigh scabs will heal up and all but disappear. What wont disappear though, are the moments in a run that can never quite be described. The camaraderie, the self-doubt, the perseverance, the views, the ground underfoot, the last mile, the moment a woodpecker flies out in front of you along a country lane or a sheep seems to be snarling at you.

I've been trying to think which memory from this years races I hold most dear and its been a close call. I thought at first it was the moment a shard of light broke through the clouds in Snowdon and cast a huge spotlight across the floor of a valley. It was like a theatre spot, scanning and highlighting the land in an otherwise grey and damp surrounding. It was breathtaking. But the winner this year was running through forests in the Beacons on a fire track alongside a very experienced ultra runner, named Dee. As we chatted about races, dreams and ambitions we ran passed one of the other racers. He was squatting by the side of the track, about 3 metres from our position, running tights down, knees up by his ears, taking a very large No.2. He was laughing and shouting:

'Nothing to see here! Nothing to see here!'

It was so large, in fact, that we could see it from across the track and Dee instantly shouted back:

'You should chop that off and put it on your mantelpiece, look at the size of it!'

It was quite impressive as far as these things go. I'm not sure if he kept it as a memento of the journey but I suspect he left it in situ. Memories like these, joking about a grown man defecating on the side of a fire track, are what it's all about. Whether you choose to show off your shit on the mantelpiece or happily watch your bloodied scab recede with time, it's the collection of all of these real memories growing with every race that become the proper trophies, the proper Finishers Prize.

As we reached the forest edge Dee turned and with his final words of wisdom shouted out:

'Well, I guess when you gotta go, you just gotta go!'

Priceless.

Kicking the Bucket

2011-06-21T12:18:00.012+01:00

The solitude of clocking miles out on trail and tarmac, for me, is a place where the mind has the opportunity to run around free. Problems or ideas can be thought out. You can wonder in the influence of a majestic swaying tree or dark rolling cloud. Sometimes, when its all going right, you can simply be lost, in nothing.

It's a place where reflection and resolution can be found. But it's also a place where dreams and aspirations can come in and out of consciousness, as extravagantly as you like.

As I'm quick stepping through the marshes, up canal paths and over well worn routes, my mind often wanders into what some would call a 'Bucket List'. This list is a place where ideas and dreams start. Once an idea is put on the list it becomes a part of your future. It could be in the next month or in 10 years, but it's now firmly planted itself into your life and will need to be resolved one way or another. It means research, planning and commitment. It will take hours of fantasising, dreaming and drooling, so that one day you can look it back up and put a big red tick straight through it.

I realised that my Bucket List, or what I would rather call the Tenacious Onslaught of Distensible Objectives list (TO DO for short) is growing and I need to keep an eye on it. So, it starts here and once written down will eat away at my brain until it gets realised.

TO DO List:

1) Complete The Offa's Dyke Path (177m) [I've run half in 2010 but this needs to be done in 1 trip]

2) Coast to Coast, The Dragons Back Route, Snowdonia to Gower (216m)

3) The Beacons Way (98m)

4) Hadrian's Wall (73m)

5) North Face Ultra-Trail Du Mont-Blanc (103m) [Need points!!]

6) The Wales Coast Path (850m) [Path to be completed by 2012]

7) The West Highland Way Race (95m)

8) The Highland Fling Race (53m)

9) The Lakeland 100 Race (100m)

And so it begins... run, walk or crawl.

The Good Samaritan

2011-05-04T15:47:00.011+01:00

It all starts on the DLR. Giggling, laughing, nervous eyes, tapping feet, sports drinks, cereal bars, large cups of coffee and the intoxicating stench of Deep Heat. Anticipation, to say the least.

A rainbow of neon vests adorned with charity logos, slogans and runners names. ‘Go Dave!’ ‘Shaz runs for Caz’. ‘STEEEEVE’. Placards poke out of the top of crowds as families and friends join their loved ones in the precession to the start line. A gentleman in front of me has a picture on his shirt of a tiny baby girl, in hospital, linked up to machinery and surrounded by cuddly bears. Above the picture is the statement: ‘We Love You Sarah’.

There are fancy dressers, tea drinkers, stretchers, soldiers, nun’s, running clubs and solo hopefuls. A sea of people eagerly awaiting their 26.2 mile fate. The tannoy calls out facts and figures, pointing out ridiculous costumes like the man dressed as a toilet and another nutcase dressed as Big Ben (It turns out that his nickname is in fact Big Ben. 5 pints of lager and a wager with his best man and now he’s at the start line in a very large and, I imagine, uncomfortable costume.) Runners are called up for live interviews, giving opportunity to show support for their different causes. A middle-aged nurse from Manchester has raised over £15,000 in a little over 5 months for new equipment in her ward.

The beginning of the race is a blur. Fanfare, cheering, more tannoy calls, Ant and Dec? Thousands of runners swelling together down the streets. Bands are playing in front gardens; onlookers are clapping, cheering and shouting. Children put their hands out for High-5’s. A pub with a Halloween fancy dress theme (?!) and people stood outside in colorful ghoul costumes dancing to Thin Lizzy. Brass band. Jelly Babies. Rattles. Large steel band. Cheering. Sunshine.

I’m not to good in the heat. I’m not one for sun worshiping and a short stint in the sun usually means a nice long sit in the shade. Not today. At every water station I had a gulp and poured the rest over my head and down my neck. Is it me or is it getting hotter?

The cold showers on the road edge every few miles were now my focus point. I kept dreaming of stopping in the centre of the shower and being passed a crisp cold pint. Oh that would have made my day. My pace was good though and more importantly steady. I kept fuelled, I kept hydrated and I kept running.

Then, somewhere around the 19 mile mark, I felt someone lifting my elbow up over my head and tightly gripping my bicep! What the?! I then realised that he was above me. When I looked down my knees were hovering above the tarmac in a strange, crazy-Dad-dance/too-much-liquor kind of way. I was hovering above the road and my elbow was up in the air. The only thing stopping me from kneeling on the tarmac was his persistent grip.

“Don’t go down. They’ll take you off for a check up.” I nodded and lifted myself up on his arm. “Drink this.” He passed me one of the free Lucozade drinks they were handing out along the route. I took a sip. “Drink it!” So I downed the bottle in one. He smiled, slapped me on the shoulder, said “Good man” and took off! I was confused.

I kept walking. I then thought about my gels and pulled out a gel full of caffeine that I was reserving for the last couple of miles and downed that too. I kept walking. People kept cheering at me “Come on, you can do it!” but it all seemed a bit distant. I kept wondering what had just happened? Slowly I could feel the Lucozade and gel concoction starting to take effect. My legs started to work again. Trot. Shoulders and back straight. Move arms. Increase pace. This hurts. My legs had gone to jelly. I was still confused. I’d never ‘hit the wall’ before and was sure I’d had more than enough fuel. This really hurts!

I then thought about a book I’d just finished reading. In fact I hadn’t been able to put it down and read it cover to cover. The book is ‘Running America’ by original ultramarathoner and all round badass Marshall Ulrich. He mentioned a placard he saw in a marathon once that simply stated ‘Blisters Don’t Need Chemo’. The image of that placard bounced around inside my skull until my legs were turning over and my feet were hitting the ground again and again and again. Blisters Don’t Need Chemo.

800m to go. Thank goodness. Eternity, then 600m to go. I was sure that sign should say 4. Come on. Keep going. A woman was running with her back completely bent over and her head between her legs. I have no idea how she was moving forward but she was and people were screaming from all sides to keep her going to the finish. Runners were hobbling in along the road edges. Dazed. Hurting. Confused. The sun had taken its toll. 400m. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. 200m. Keep going. Keep going. Finish Line. Oh man. That hurt. Stop. Bliss.

The World Cancer Research Fund (UK) were kind enough to give me one of their reserved places for this years marathon and the funds raised so far are just over £1,200. There are still donations coming in and I would like to thank everyone who has supported this cause for the Virgin London Marathon 2011. I know that they appreciate everyone’s efforts and donations and I look forward to raising some more funds for their very worthy work in the future.

Thank you x

Rules of the Road

2011-03-01T13:59:00.003+00:00

So the daff’s are starting to raise their heads in anticipation of sunnier, longer, warmer days. Crocuses are out, peppering our parks and gardens with flashes of purples, whites and oranges under the brewing grey skies. The promise of spring is starting to show its colour across the city not only in the breaking bulbs and buds of branches but by the hundreds, if not thousands, of newly bought fluorescent yellow running tops going up and down our streets.

The paths are officially rammed! New t-shirts, flashing gloves, charity vests and spanking white daps are treading tarmac, cobbles, bridleways and canal footpaths. Expectation of the oncoming 26.2 miles and the community of those involved grow with the season. From the dark winter months into spring the reality of the race becomes more and more present. In the tightly packed streets around the city, runners are passing left right and centre, crisscrossing, sidestepping, hopping and lunging. There are some valuable lessons to be learnt on these training runs, adding to a set of rules that will be invaluable on race day. They are, of course, ‘Rules of the Road’.

Whether a first time marathoner or age old veteran, the rules are the same. The rules should be learnt and learnt well before the big day, because if broken, could cause havoc amongst the ranks! For example, taking into consideration wind flow when spitting, looking over your shoulder when passing, blocking a fellow runner, farting, aid station bottle throwing and urination tactics (see Nov post '26th Marathon Eryri' on how not to do it!).

All of these rules will help in the smooth flow through the pack. Many others around you wont have been as savvy and gained this valuable knowledge before race day. This can result in confusion, a sort of mild panic as heels are clipped and runners around you start to fumble. Over active elbows give your ribs a good dig, water bottles clip your nose, hacked up lung juice lands on your right inner thigh. There can be moments of fluoro-dazzle, yellows, pinks, oranges and greens merging to burn sun dots directly into your retina. But with the rules already learnt you’re able to sidestep the puker, drink from your bottle without drowning, and skip elegantly over the spilled pack of jelly beans.

You’ll be able to run instinctively and with pride, dodging the rule breakers with ease of stride, especially because you know that you have learnt the most important lesson, that is, Golden Rule Number One. The GRNO is a rule that the wisest have prepared for, tried and tested. Out on long runs every type of combination of liquid, food and gel supplement expected to be used during the race has been tested in varying combinations and quantities amongst wind, rain, sun and hail. This is because you know (often through experience), that entering a marathon not having tested all variables of nutrition, there is the possibility of something that hits you with no warning. No hint, not even a rumble. This thing will slap you right in the face and rip your belly apart in one sweeping action. Pain ripples through your stomach and nothing will get in its way. This isn't The Wall I'm talking about here, relatively mild in comparison to this intestine tickler. No, this is, more commonly known between the running community as: The Runners Squits. The consequences of which are beyond any type of muscular control you think you may have. The race shorts with 4 inch thigh cover you bought for the big day wont be any help either in hiding this rule dodger. And if you haven't taken Golden Rule Number One into consideration before setting off around the course, pray that when it happens, you have a porta-loo and an industrial amount of paper roll to help you through the 3 minutes that are about to follow.

It will get messy and you will not get your PB.

Return / TJN at the Virgin London Marathon 2011!

2011-01-28T08:00:00.008+00:00

After over a year of hibernation (yes that's hibernation not inebriation!) The Nipple is back full force into the fundraising extravaganza that is the London Marathon!

The lovely events team at World Cancer Research Fund (UK) have very kindly given me one of their places at this years event. As you know the marathon is a massive opportunity to raise funds for worthy charities and I'll be doing all I can to accumulate some cash for WCRF over the coming months.

The WCRF are, in their own words, part of a global network of charities that are committed to preventing cancer... [WCRF] fund cutting edge scientific research and provide people with the information they need to reduce their cancer risk. They are one of the many charities that consistently provide help and support in the fight against cancer. I'm proud to be able to show my own support through running for WCRF and I hope to be able to raise as much money as possible for this worthy cause!

I have a page on their website where donations can be made - it's very quick, simple and safe - just CLICK HERE!

EVERY LITTLE COUNTS!!!

Some London Marathon fun facts:
- Usually the marathon is run on my birthday! But this year falls a week earlier because of Easter. Last year there were 173 runners sharing their birthday during the Marathon.
- There will be 35,000+ runners crossing the finishing line, the largest to date is 35,694 runners in 2007.
- There are 1,250 portable toilets on and around the course.
- There are 81 pubs on the course - which could make for an interesting pub crawl?
- There are 6000 volunteers that make it happen! Bravo!
- Fastest time dressed as a vegetable: 3:34:55, and was, of course, a carrot.

FUNDRAISING PAGE LIVE!

2011-01-28T07:58:00.006+00:00

WORLD CANCER RESEARCH FUND
FUNDRAISING PAGE
LIVE!!

CLICK HERE TO MAKE A DONATION!!
PLEASE!

[Beacons Ultra 45miles 9:17 18th - in dire need of pie, mash and ale!]

Marathons and Morphsuits

2009-10-30T11:00:00.019+00:00

With a blood blister the size of Gwynedd on my second toe and a knee joint that needs some serious oiling, its safe to say, the Snowdonia Marathon never fails to impress.

Once again I found myself huddling against anything that offered even a minuscule of protection whilst waiting for the start line to fill. I went through a number of options, curling behind a very small rock – tedious and slightly painful, standing very straight behind a tree – comical and rubbish, then finally, huddling against a rock face with a two inch overhang for protection. I convinced myself the overhang was working until I noticed that all the water flowing off the top of the rock face, combined with the water hitting the rock face, was channeling straight down the rock face directly into my open backpack. Well at least I now know my pack is fully waterproof and given another few minutes I could have tested its 15 litre capacity.

The Snowdonian start line is certainly no advert for Nivea. A motley crew of shivering faces, wet beards, widened eyes and smiles to match. A quick intro from the organisers and you’re off. Up The Pass.

I have two main memories from this years race aside from the sharp weather wallop and the leg tearing as/descents. The first was the support of all the runners, drink station volunteers, marshals and cheerers. Outstanding. I cant decide whether extreme conditions brings out the best or whether the best turn up for the extreme. At mile 17 I joined a pack of 5 runners. 5, very large 6ft+ runners, built, some would say, like brick shit houses. A perfect 7:40 pace, joking, chatting, system checking, pacing, eating and drinking in unity. I entered their pace quickly, getting swept into the squad. The pace stayed perfect and the unit supported. The moment that really stood out to me, and a moment that sums up this marathon in one fell swoop, was when the fifth runner next to me stopped to adjust the wind torn number on his chest. We continued a good 200 yards until the front of the pack noticed. Immediately the strongest runner increased pace and peeled off. He then ran back to the fifth runner and helped with the number. Chatting all the way and increasing tempo they were back with us in no time and resumed position. The squad was back to full force and they continued their journey, no questions asked.

My piggyback on the edge of the squad abruptly ended at mile 21 as they continued their pace up the ever increasing climb and the terrain simply gave me a swift one between the legs. There on in became absolute carnage. Grown men wincing, bolts of cramp hitting hamstrings on either side of me. At one point it felt like being on a battlefield and I wished I was back with the squad. Tears running down the cheeks of wry veterans and young marathon whippets alike. Tyson-esque weather punches adding insult to injury left, right and centre. Downhill became the new uphill. Pain. Then the magic 24 mile marker. Joy.

The second memory is from earlier in the race. I have no idea what mile, where or when, but the image is engrained on my brain forever. I’ve had to think it over and make sure that I wasn’t hallucinating because as I turned a corner with a group of other runners a wonderful, strange and momentarily confusing sight confronted us all. In a small lay-by to the edge of the road, two figures dressed from head to toe in full nylon / spandex suits that completely covered their bodies including their faces, one bright red, one bright blue, stood, at the edge of the road, happily waving at all the runners passing by. Full spandex suits. Head, neck, arms, fingers, legs, feet. And next to them? A tandem bike propped against the fence of course.

Yes.

So then somehow you’ve got round. Into the village and over the finish. Tears, hugs, cramps. A runner violently hanging onto the person designated to hand out the slate coasters with leg ripping pain. Not only has this man been standing in the freezing rain for hours, he now has a crazed runner hanging onto his jacket, wild eyed and screaming. Poor chap. I grab my coaster and head for the tea urn.

Get wrapped up in foil, sip your tea and your on your way. On your way to the hotel bar where the next few hours are spent watching people slowly hobble, limp, and hop to the taps. Experiences are shared, stories of a women with cramp in both legs screaming wildly on the side of the mountains slowly ripples through the bar and empty Guinness glasses fill the tables. What more could you ask for?

Snowdonia Marathon 2009 is being discussed in the Runner’s World forum under the post ‘Camaraderie Rules!’ currently standing at 3936 messages.

Snowdonia Marathon 2009

2009-10-22T20:58:00.008+01:00

Snowdonia Marathon 2009 : 24thOct : Wooohoooo!
...watch this space for TJN Race Report, D.I.Y., Whistle of The Week and lots more Tales of Distance Running!

Mammary Papilla

2009-10-04T18:15:00.010+01:00

My sincere apologies to those who have expressed their disgust in my sluggardly commitment. I will be taking the elegant line ‘it seems you’ve been dipping your thumb in the Vas pot too often’ as one of the main kick-starts to a somewhat muted summer. You know who you are.

Lea Valley Tales: Yes Blood

2009-04-08T10:15:00.010+01:00

So it’s time for the knee clattering cold morning runs to stop? It seems like an age away when I was running in a vest and shorts. In fact I’ve come quite accustomed to layering up, fitting on winter leggings, shorts, vest, t-shirt, socks (pre-heated), winter daps, waterproof jacket (very reflective) and bright (some would say comic) yellow gloves. Then there’s the switching on of multiple flashing L.E.D’s, covering up melon with mountaineering fleece-lined hat (ear-warmers included), slapping copious amounts of Vaseline over cracked lips, eventually stepping out into the wild winds like a fatal accident between an 80’s backing dancer and a Christmas tree. All before 7 a.m.

And what now? Hazy evenings with multilayered sunsets, warm grass-sweeping breezes, cows slowly winding through green pastures as frolicking birds sing in the still treetops? No. I’ll tell you what happens now – Mozzies. Thousands, if not millions of the little buggers swarming around your sweat filled hair, flying kamikaze style right into the centre of your iris. Swarming into your mouth with every deep inhale, causing moments of sheer panic as your left eye is flooded and temporarily blinded by a semi living six legged beast. Flapping arms, paranoid neck slaps and insects stuck to your skin drowning in sweat, is what happens now.

The Babylonian Talmud (Gittin 56b), asserts that the Roman Emperor Titus was punished by God for having destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem. What did God do? I hear you ask. Simple, He got a mosquito to fly up his nose. The mosquito picked at Titus's brain, buzzing ceaselessly, driving him crazy and eventually caused his death. What if one of these buggers decides to climb on up inside your nose while, innocently enough, you're enjoying a so-called ‘leisurely spring evening run’? The results could be catastrophic. According to Islamic legends Nimrod was punished by Allah with a Mozzie. A mosquito entered his head and the humming sound disturbed him so much that he ordered one of his guards to hit his head with a stick. Need I say more? Well ok, According to the “Mosquitoes” chapter in Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things, by Lafcadio Hearn, mosquitoes are seen as reincarnations of the dead, condemned by the errors of their former lives to the condition of Jiki-ketsu-gaki, or "blood-drinking pretas".

Bah! I say to sun drenched long runs, flowering hedgerows, shimmering waters and carefree evenings. Be gone the beautiful smell of cut grass and bbq’s and to hell with clouds of The Condemned battling for a place up your nostrils. Shut the curtains, batton down the hatches and get ready to hibernate - the Summer is coming.

Flora London Marathon Special (Edition 2): Sausage&Mash, Lea Valley Tales and Whistle of The Week

2009-04-07T10:30:00.014+01:00

The London Marathon is well and truly on its way and below are a few pictures of some of the prizes up for grabs for the TOP SPONSORS! The first lot combines a tasteful AICR T-shirt, AICR Running Vest, 2 AICR Flags, a pair of HEART UK ‘Team RED’ laces and 3 RSPB pin badges.

MORE TO COME!! Including The Jogger’s Nipple Merchandise!

All donations made through the Justgiving website (Link Below!!) go directly to the Association for International Cancer Research. If you’re a UK taxpayer Justgiving makes sure 25% in Gift Aid, plus a 3% supplement are added to your donation to bump up the total even further.

18 DAYS AND COUNTING – JUST HIT THE LINK!

Flora London Marathon Special (Edition 1): Bread&Honey

2009-03-26T11:30:00.020+00:00

So the count down has begun and the 26th of April is fast approaching and this is the first of many posts leading up to the Flora London Marathon 2009!
First of all I would like to thank all the donations in 2008 that amounted to a handsome £777.87 and an extra £219.37 in Gift Aid, giving a total of £997.24 for Bowel Cancer UK. You can read a write up of one of these sponsored runs, The Snowdonia Marathon, in a previous post - Nov 15.
So for 'The London' I have kindly been given a Golden Bond place from the events team at the Association for International Cancer Research. There are 27 of us running in the AICR Team hoping to beat last years raised funds of £48,000, and there are a few ways to get involved!
I've set up a 'Justgiving' sponsorship page so that donating couldn't be any easier - click on the link below and it will take you straight there. If your a UK taxpayer you can also opt for the Gift Aid, donating some of your tax to further increase the donation!!
It's also my 30th BIRTHDAY the day before the race, and you'll be pleased to know I'll be celebrating it with a large bowl of pasta and an early night! So instead of buying me a beer on the 25th, donate the price of a beverage, or two, on the Justgiving page - every penny counts!
TOP SPONSORS WILL BE RECEIVING JOGGER'S NIPPLE PRIZES! More details to come soon...so watch this space!

The View

2009-03-22T11:00:00.010+00:00

Photo: Simon Chaplin, Outdoors Magic

To think, twelve months ago, that I would be donning a skin-tight pair of running leggings, preparing a carbo/protein/eloctrolyte concoction and ‘Vasing Up’ three hours before actually having to get up for work, would have been, to say the least, absurd. To think that when packing to go on holiday the majority of my suitcase would be filled with running shoes, shorts, t-shirts, socks, energy drinks, recovery drinks and gps systems, would have been outright ridiculous.

These things have, of course, evolved gradually over the past twelve months. Like the change from knee-length shorts to cop-an-eyeful-of-that length shorts, or the once grueling 10k long run to the 20+ mile Sunday expedition. So when I explained to my family that I wouldn’t be traveling straight back home from my visit, but would be stopping over night at a hostel so that I could get an early rise to run up a mountain in the winter snow, quite flippantly I should add, with no real explanation of the years developments, I think it may have come as a bit of a shock.

This didn’t really sink in until I was sat on my bunk with no reception. It was at this moment, as I was holding my phone out of the skylight, that the room to the left of mine erupted into the most hideous typhoon of ear-wrenching noise known to man. Especially one alone in a small hostel bunk room with paper-thin walls. This was the sound of five teenage girls on an outward-bound team-building weekend. And then the sound of five teenage girls on an outward-bound team-building weekend screaming ‘LAMBRINI!’...Oh Joy.

Hate wouldn’t begin to describe, in fact a club covered and dripping with teenage liver mass, eye phlegm and soured fizzing Lambrini wouldn’t even get close to the images engraved on my weary eyes. At some point I slept, and abruptly woke moments before my alarm started. I enjoy waking just before the alarm sounds because somehow it means I’ve won. Slamming the door several times on my way out before the sun had even risen and hearing head-banging hangover moans stirring in the room next door, also, somehow, means I won.

Dawn broke my approach to Storey Arms, and my climb up Pen-Y-Fan was greeted with snowfall, sharp crosswinds and a fine-spun first light. I only have a few ‘snap shot’ memories from when I started the ascent. The finest was entering the snow on the top third of the peak, being the first to leave footprints leading to the summit. Then of course the face-slap of a view combined with whipping wind that completes the last half-mile. I thought that the fight to the summit, the pause for the view and completion of ascent would be the highlight, and at that moment it was, until I started to descend.

Descending a mountainside covered in snow was easier and more fun than initially anticipated. The snow had formed its own path on top of the rugged stony path of the mountain. There was no need for eagle eye alertness, dodging rubble, cracks, potholes or sheep slurry. The hard surface and soft core of the snow layer just meant leaving gravity to its ways and hurtling as fast as possible in a downward direction. This downward hurtling continued for a good ten minutes until I clocked a group of walkers half way up their Saturday morning hike – all stood still, wrapped in Gore-Tex and watching my descent. I slowed down to pass as they parted, slightly concerned, to the paths banks. The leading hiker caught my eye and shouted through the wind “Oi Fella! That was the craziest shit I’ve seen in a long time!” I of course took this as a compliment and gave him a nod on top of which I added a double-thumbs-up.

At the base of the path, back where I’d begun my ascent in the early morning dawn, I paused for water. In doing so I met another runner coming over the stile at the end / beginning of the path. He wanted to know what the weather was like at the top. He explained that the weather changed rapidly on the summit, it could take a matter of minutes for bright blue skies to turn into lowering dark rain clouds. “From spring to winter in seconds”, and that the weather at the base had no reflection on what was to come. In his mid sixties, he looked to me to be a runner that had used this route time and time again, and judging by his kit I was pretty sure he’d ran up some other, larger mountains too, and so I asked “Are you training for anything?”

“Yes, Son” he said, “What for?” I responded, and with a simple, ivory tooth filled smile and pointing to the summit he shouted “The View Son! The Bloody View!!”

Haggered Hedgerows

2008-11-22T10:00:00.014+00:00

I didn’t think there would be another dedication after the first post, but since the shocking news this week that House Sparrows are in decline, I thought it only fitting to dedicate this post to our whistling friend.
When I decided to start writing about the ins and outs of running ‘long’ distances, I knew that during tales of Deep Heat and fist size blisters certain aspects of durational exercise would come to light and be praised. The moments that turn a mind from treacherous cogitation to unobscured joy. The moments that unravel lead weighted pessimism, to knowing you're going to make it.
Rustles, barks, glints, winks, squawks, shimmers, gleams and chirps are just a few of these moments. From microscopic twitches to atmospheric collisions they all combine to help sore limbs into those final miles, and the noisy chorus of hedgerow nesters never fails to perk up moaning knees.
Apparently the over pruning, clearing and cutting of garden hedgerows has contributed to the House Sparrows decline, destroying safe habitats for the birds to thrive and feed in. I thought about this, and I reckon that for every 5 metres of garden hedge, there must be at least 60 minutes of work in the attempt to train those unruly shoots and clear up fallen leaves. For a garden with 3 average length hedges, this amounts to a lot of time and energy that could be better spent elsewhere. Like running, or writing a running blog, or sinking a pint of dark ale down the local.
So I've decided to help our feathered freinds, and so could you.
Dont worry yourself about cutting, raking, collecting and bagging. Leave those Sunday tools in the shed. Add some extra miles to your long run, and then wonder, even saunter, down to the pub. Pick up a paper, there's plenty of time to do the crossword. Sit back and relax. Ignore the tutting from the neighbours, ignore the twitching of curtains and prolonged stares, and definitely ignore the ever imposing tangled mess that surrounds your garden. Embrace this new found 'free time'. Embrace it in wonderful guilt free knowledge that House Sparrows, and many of their friends, are chirping noisily in unified chorus raising a healthy feathered salute to you, and your disorderly excuse of a hedge. Simple. Not a finger lifted.
Live strong House Sparrow and continue to enrich the British hedgerow, and inspire the early morning run.

26ain Marathon Eryri | 26th Snowdonia Marathon

2008-11-15T19:39:00.014+00:00

Photograph: JMT, 'Clogwyn, Snowdon Mountain Path'.

Crouching behind a small tree inside a black bin bag in the vain attempt to dilute gale-force slapping horizontal rain, bringing my bones back from a deafening brattle down to a mere chitchat, was, to say the least, an interesting introduction to marathon running.

Wide-eyed and full of rolled oats I jumped on the first bus up to the start. Having introduced myself briefly to the person sat next to me the bus stopped on the edge of the road, at the base of the Llanberis Pass to a uniformed ‘Is this it?’ This seemingly ungrateful cry was from the right side of the bus who could all see down a gravel track to the start of the race. Five Portaloos, each of which had 2 or 3 people inside hiding from the Parody of Welsh Elements, a few people dotted around, behind rocks, trees and shrubs, and one lone, slightly deranged (perhaps inebriated) elderly fellow in skimpy fluorescent shorts and running vest seemingly unaffected by the Snowdonian onslaught…Perfect.

The start to the race seemed strangely fitting for an event rated as one of the hardest marathons in Europe. It was unassuming, filled with running folk that stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for steep climbs and demanding descents. No fanfare. No nonsense. Just run.

And so we ran. My memories of the event are blurred. I forgot my gels and had to get over it quickly, I was both shocked and wired on going a long way up, and then down, then up again, then down, then flat, then up, oh and then up again, some more up, lots of down…There were of course the saviors at each feeding station with buckets of jelly beans, juice and isotonic drinks, also seemingly unaffected by the conditions. I have all of these people to thank, as I wouldn’t have made the run without them. There were runners I talked to on grueling inclines, slips and a tumble on a decline, a toilet break on a small stone bridge that shot up in all directions as wind managed to cause comic chaos. Droplets of urine exploded in every direction and hit a couple of passers. My sincerest apologies if you’re reading and if it’s any consolation I inhaled a whole load of it.

I think anyone who ran will remember the last 6 miles with both utter contempt and conquering pride. At the point when you think there can’t possibly be anything else, Bwlch-y-Groes clouts you in the face. Well, hamstrings, calves, knees, back, stomach, arms, shoulders, neck, brain, eyelids, fingers. A tear-jerking climb onto a kamikaze descent. A fitting end.

And then the finish, much like the start. A tap on the back, a cup of tea, collect your coaster and on your way.

There isn’t much else needed when surrounded by a community of people that are humbled by their individual bouts with the mountains and elements, all warming numb fingers on paper cups, and bodies pink as lobsters from stinging rain. Towel the head, jumper on, sink a pint, job done.

'Rain, wind, and glorious Snowdonia, what more could you want.' Kev Joyce

Finishing Time 3:33:07

Nod, doff, wink or smile

2008-11-08T13:23:00.025+00:00

Photograph: Katharine Mac Daid, 'Walthamstow Marshes, London, August' www.katharinemacdaid.com

I would like to dedicate this opening blog for The Jogger's Nipple to one person. I have no idea what his name is, I've never met him, and I probably never will do. At around 5' 6", 60 - 65 years old, silver haired and a wiry build, he is a runner I see on one of my weekday runs on the canal system up to Walthamstow Marshes.

Yesterday, I went on my first proper run since completing a marathon two weeks ago, and got my creaking knees back into action. About 3/4 of the way through my route I saw the said gentleman, in the distance, making his way along the path in my direction - and I knew immediately what was to come. With my head held high and keeping pace he clocked my approach, made eye contact, and gave me a solid, definitive, nod. I immediately counter-nodded with a quick smile and we continued on our way into the evening rain. It made my run complete.

This simple, knowing acknowledgment from a fellow runner, out and about, clocking up the miles come rain or shine, has come to be my most treasured part of running. So I thank this person, whom I don't know but share a common obsession with, for giving me a grin whilst running through stiff legs and drizzle. Maybe next time I'll try out the old 'double big-thumbs-up'.

So for those that have the chance, flick the thumb up or the forefinger, 'Morning', 'Evening', lift an eyebrow, raise a salute, nod, doff, wink or smile, and if you feel particularly active, try all at once.

Next blog: Snowdonia Marathon 2008, A Weathered Tale